Forever Young - Part 2
by Warviben
Summary: Harry Potter goes missing during the final battle. Snape finds him in a most undesirable place. I haven't published a multi-chapter story - hope I'm going this right!
1. Chapter 1

Forever Young

by Warviben

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these awesome characters. I'm quite sure you know who does.

**Summary: **Harry Potter goes missing during the final battle. Snape finds him in a most undesirable place.

**Warnings: **This story contains a rather detailed (though not lengthy) description of what I would call forced prostitution. It will also eventually be Snarry, which means it contains a detailed description of a sexual act between two men. If either of these things disturbs you in any way, I would suggest that you read no further.

**Notes:** Harry reads from a book in this story. That book is _Gertrude McFuzz_ by Dr. Seuss. The lullaby that is sung is _Scottish Lullaby_ by Sir Walter Scott. This story is complete, but it's longish, and I've decided to divide it into two sections. The second and final portion of the story will be posted on Thursday. Thanks for reading.

##########

Snape eyed the Muggle establishment before him with a dubious eye. The sign proclaimed he was looking at The Ruddy Goat. "Run down" would have been a generous description of the thatched roof set over stone walls, but he'd been tromping through nearby woods and meadows, gathering plants and herbs, for hours, and he was tired and hungry. The lure of some place to rest his feet and down a pint or two was strong, and he pushed the door open and entered the dimly-lit building.

Snape stood at the door, scrutinizing the interior. Six small round tables, each with two or three chairs pulled around them. A plank set across stacked crates serving as the bar at the back of the room, a bar which at the moment was unmanned. Though there were no stools at the bar, three tall stools sat off to the right, beneath a spotlight which was currently turned off. As Snape looked his fill at the empty room, he was on the verge of a decision to leave this place in search of something more sanitary, when the most delicious smell wafted up his incredibly sensitive nostrils. His stomach growled in anticipation, and he decided perhaps he'd stay after all.

A large man wearing a stained apron over grubby clothes came from the back, wiping his meaty hands on a towel as he did so. He spotted Snape and said, "Welcome, stranger, to The Ruddy Goat. 'ave a seat anywhere ye like."

With a nod of assent, Snape moved into the room and chose a table against the wall so that he could keep an eye on the door in the unlikely event anyone else came in. Old spy habits died hard.

"What can I get ye?" the barman asked.

"I'll start with a pint," Snape said, sitting delicately and staring at the table, which looked like it hadn't seen a good washing in a number of years. "And you might tell me what that incredible smell is."

A wide grin split the man's face, revealing two teeth. "Ah! That'd be the missus. She be making a rabbit stew. Might I interest ye in a bowl?"

The thought of eating anything produced in this establishment gave Snape pause, but he wasn't a wizard for nothing. "Yes, a bowl of the stew as well."

The barman fiddled behind the bar, then approached Snape with a foaming mug. "Here ya go. I make this meself." He set the mug on the table. "Go ahead. Try it."

Apparently the oaf wasn't going to leave until he did, so Snape picked up the glass, studied it carefully for signs of obvious filth, and brought it to his nose, ostensibly to inhale its aroma but actually to cast a discrete wordless bacteria killing spell. Only then did he put the glass to his lips and sip. It was surprisingly good, and Snape said so. "Nice," he said.

The large man beamed again, showing Snape that the two lonely teeth in his mouth were in dire need of some basic hygiene soon or they would be going the way of their brethren. "I'll just have the missus put you up a bowl o' that stew."

"I'd appreciate that," Snape offered. As soon as the man's back was turned, he cast a cleaning spell on the table and sat back in his chair with his glass, studying his environment again.

"Get on out there, you lot," he heard.

Three individuals of indeterminate age and sex trooped behind the makeshift bar and sat themselves on the nearby bar stools. In the nearly non-existent light, Snape thought the one on the end, to his left, was a girl and the others were male, though it was difficult to tell for sure and impossible to guess at age. They sat on the stools, the girl on the left talking softly with the boy in the middle, who was kicking his legs back and forth and swiveling his hips to make the stool spin back and forth.

The barman approached Snape with a steaming bowl of heavenly-smelling stew. "Rabbit stew," he announced proudly. "Best in ta land."

"Thank you. Have you entertainment?" Snape asked, nodding in the direction of the three on the stools.

The man winked lewdly at him. "Well, they don't sing, if ye get me drift."

Snape did, and his nose curled slightly in disgust. "I am not interested in children."

The barman looked affronted. "Aye! They're all of legal age, or me name ain't Ewan MacDonald!"

Snape watched the boy in the middle prod the other boy with his toes, his apparently limitless energy causing him to wriggle in his chair. He stopped himself from snorting in disagreement – he had no intention of availing himself of the "entertainment" on offer, so it made little difference to him if MacDonald was peddling underaged flesh.

The man left him now, and Snape cast his antibiotic spell again before taking a bite of the stew. It was as delicious tasting as it was aromatic. The spotlight over the bar stools was turned on, but Snape hardly registered this, other than to note that the boy in the middle covered his face with both hands at the sudden brightness, so absorbed was he in filling his empty stomach. He didn't look up again until his bowl was empty and his stomach pleasantly filled. He sat back with a sigh and sipped his remaining stout. Now that his basic needs were taken care of, he looked around him with a little more interest.

The boy on the middle stool, his face still covered with both hands, was now spinning himself around in slow circles on the stool, giggling as he did so. He looked a little old for such juvenile entertainments, Snape thought. The girl beside him (definitely a girl Snape could now tell with the benefit of the spotlight) smiled fondly at the twirling boy, every now and then reaching out a hand to spin him faster. The other boy was eyeing Snape, a bored expression on his face, his mouth hanging open as he breathed. Snape returned his stare until the boy dropped his gaze.

The boy in the middle stopped his revolutions and swayed dizzily on the stool. When he dropped his hands and turned to the girl, a large happy smile on his face, Snape stopped breathing.

How was this possible? The boy had been missing since the Final Battle at Hogwart's, eight months ago. No one had seen him take a hex, and no trace of his body had been found, but it was popularly believed that the Boy Who Lived had finally died that fateful day, just after, or perhaps simultaneously with, exploding Voldemort into thousands of glittering fragments of evil. The Dark Lord was gone, but so was Harry Potter, and the ensuing celebrations were muted by a sense of sadness.

So how had he ended up here, in a tiny nondescript Muggle bar on the edge of nowhere, on display for potential customers to purchase an hour with his arse?

Snape squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that when he opened them again, he'd discover that he was mistaken and the boy _wasn't_ Harry Potter. But when he opened them again, there was no doubt. The same messy head of black hair. The same lightning bolt shaped scar on the forehead. The same joyful grin. The same green eyes. No eyeglasses, but then Snape remembered that the boy's glasses were all that was found of him after the battle. This _was_ Harry Potter, former savior of the wizarding world, now rentboy in this backwater dump. Snape put his now empty glass down forcefully on the table.

"More stew, Mister?" the barman asked, approaching Snape's table.

Snape tore his eyes away from Potter and forced himself to look at MacDonald. "No. That is quite enough. My compliments to your wife."

MacDonald retrieved the empty bowl. "Another pint, then?"

"No." The man turned to leave, but Snape stopped him. "That boy up there . . ."

"Strappin' lad, ain't he?" MacDonald asked proudly. "That's my Caleb. He'll take right care of you, he will."

Snape swallowed the bile that rose suddenly at the thought of a man prostituting his own son. "No," he said. "The other."

"Ah, that'd be Davey. He's right pop'lar with the customers, too, that'un."

"How does he come to be with you? He looks very like a boy I used to know."

A suspicious glint came into MacDonald's eyes, and he stared hard at Snape. "I ain't done nothin' illegal."

Well that was obviously a lie, but Snape needed information, and he let it pass. "I've not said that you have," he said soothingly. "How a man earns his living is no one's business but his own. Perhaps I _will_ have another pint. And maybe you'd like to join me?"

Still clearly suspicious, MacDonald nevertheless nodded and plodded off to the bar. He returned shortly with two glasses, one of which he placed in front of Snape. He sat across from Snape and cradled his own glass between his large paws. Catching MacDonald's eye, Snape held his attention while he tipped a few drops of Veritaserum into the other man's pint. He broke eye contact, then watched with satisfaction as MacDonald took a large pull from his glass.

"Tell me how you came by the boy."

"Bought him off a peddler passin' through town 'bout six months ago. Boy had no memory of who he was nor where he'd come from. Peddler had named him David and that's all I knew. Seems a bit simple, if you get my drift. Acts more like a young'un than a boy his age should. And he's gettin' worse as time goes by, acting younger like. But the customers like him. He takes direction good and likes to please. Made a pretty penny off'n him, I have."

"And you've been renting him out every night for the past six months?" Snape asked, feeling ill.

"Well, not every night. Some nights are like this, and don't none of them earn a thing. But when there's traffic through here, the boy holds his own. Sometimes get took two or three times a night."

The queasiness in Snape's stomach increased. His excellent rabbit stew now felt like a ball of snakes. Potter apparently had some kind of progressive psychological condition, and he'd been raped likely hundreds of times over the past few months.

Snape turned his eyes to the boy on display. He was grinning happily at the girl beside him, seemingly unaware that he was living in one of the dark recesses of hell.

"I want the boy."

MacDonald's eyes lit up, and he smirked. So much for having no interest in children. "He goes for twenty quid."

"You misunderstand me. I will be taking the boy with me. He will not be returning."

MacDonald drew himself up in indignation. "You'll be doin' no such thing! He's my property, he is!"

"I _am _taking the boy," Snape promised, putting all of his considerable menace into his words and demeanor. "If you try to stop me, you will lose more than a piece of property, that I will guarantee you."

MacDonald apparently had decent self-preservation instincts because he sensed the man's dangerousness and backed off.

"What do I owe you for the stew and the pints?"

MacDonald named a figure that Snape knew was grossly inflated, but he didn't quibble. He _was _taking away one of the man's sources of income after all. He threw some Muggle money onto the table and stood up. "Good day to you, sir."

One part of Snape kept aware of MacDonald's position as he approached the three young people on their "block". He spared a quick glance at the others, then focused himself on Potter in the middle, who was looking up at him with guileless green eyes and a simple smile.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked the boy.

Potter peered near-sightedly at him. "Nope," he said, shaking his head and drumming his heels against the stool.

Snape sighed. Of course not. "You're coming with me."

Potter hopped willingly off the stool. "'Kay. I have to tell Uncle Ewan."

"He already knows. Do you have things here you'd like to take with you?"

A look of confusion settled on the boy's face. "Aren't I coming back?"

"No. You will not be coming back."

Now the boy looked afraid, and he turned to the girl. "Maggie!"

Maggie put a comforting arm around Harry and glared at Snape. "Whachoo playing at?"

"The boy is coming with me. MacDonald is aware of this."

"Ewan?" Maggie called to the man now cowering behind the bar.

"Let 'im go," MacDonald ordered.

Potter buried his face in Maggie's shoulder. "I don't want to go!" MacDonald's son looked on with dull, mean eyes.

Snape wanted out of here, soon, and he stepped up and took Potter's arm, pulling him away from the girl. "Does he have things here?"

She nodded.

"Get them."

The girl studied him for a moment, then left. In the few moments she was gone, Potter sobbed but didn't try to pull out of the firm grip Snape had on his arm.

Maggie returned with a cardboard box. Snape released Harry with a curt, "Stay", and took the box from her. He rummaged through it and found one well-worn change of clothing, a dilapidated stuffed blue rabbit, some rocks, two children's books with the covers almost separated, and below those, an eleven-inch wand made of holly. Potter's wand – somehow he'd managed to keep it with him all this time, though in his current condition he likely had no idea what it was. Snape pocketed the wand and held the rabbit up to Potter. "This is yours?"

Looking somewhat embarrassed, Harry nodded.

"Do you wish to take it with you?"

Harry reached out and snatched the well-loved toy from Snape's hand. He tucked it under his arm and glared fiercely at Snape as though daring him to make a disparaging remark or take it away.

"The books?" Snape questioned.

Potter shrugged. Snape dropped the box. "Let's go."

"My clothes!" the boy squawked.

If the clothes he was wearing now were any indication, the clothes in the box weren't worth saving. "We will get you some new clothes. Are you ready?"

Harry bolted toward Maggie. Snape, thinking he was attempting to flee, made a grab for him and missed. Potter only went as far as Maggie, though, throwing himself into her arms, weeping.

Maggie held Harry, trying to soothe him. Finally, Snape had had enough, and he grabbed hold of the boy again and tore him from the girl's embrace. He hauled Harry toward the door, the boy looking mournfully back at his friend as they went.

When they got outside, Snape led Harry away from the ramshackle building and toward the forest so they could disapparate unseen.

"Oh do stop sniveling, Potter!"

"Who's Potter?" the boy asked with a sniff, wiping his dripping nose on his sleeve.

"You are, imbecile! Come close to me." Harry unquestioningly stepped up to Snape, put his arms tightly around Snape's waist, and rested his head on Snape's chest. Surprised by the boy's willingness to touch him like this, Snape put an arm around him and turned them both on the spot.

##########

When they arrived in Spinner's End, Snape released Harry, but Harry held him fast, disoriented by the apparition experience. "You can let go now," Snape growled.

Slowly, Harry did, and he stepped away from Snape and looked around curiously. "How did we do that?"

"Magic, Potter."

"My name is Davey."

"No, your name is Harry James Potter. You've been missing from your school for the past eight months."

"Nuh uh," Potter argued. "Davey. My name is Davey."

"Davey what?"

"Davey nothing. Just Davey. Do you live here?"

"Yes. Have you eaten dinner?"

"Nope. We always eat after . . ." Harry ducked his head, embarrassed. "After the last customer."

Snape led Harry into the kitchen. "I don't have much here, but I can put together something simple." Snape found bread and cheese and fed the boy at the kitchen table. Potter ate ravenously, as though he hadn't had enough to eat for some time. He ate every last crumb of bread and every last morsel of cheese and then devoured three biscuits Snape found in the pantry. It was obvious he'd have to shop soon if they stayed here any length of time.

"When is the last time you bathed?" Snape asked. He'd noticed Potter smelled a little ripe and was more than a little filthy.

Harry wrinkled his nose and scratched his armpit. "Dunno. Last week?"

"You will bathe tonight."

"Don't wanna."

"I do not care if you want to. You smell, and you will bathe."

Harry shrugged. "Okay."

"The bathroom is this way."

Snape supervised Potter while he undressed and got into the hot bath. He retrieved a healing potion from his stores and rubbed it into the deep scratches on Harry's back, which looked as though they had been made by fingernails, and into the numerous flea bites covering the boy's skin. Suspecting Potter might also be infested with lice, Snape checked through the thick, filthy black mess of hair on Potter's head and was not disappointed. Thankfully he had a very strong soap which he used to clean chemicals from his hands which he suspected would also kill lice, and he cut the boy's hair magically and then scrubbed what was left forcefully with the soap, drawing loud protests from the boy which Snape ignored. Other than neglect (Potter was painfully underfed), he seemed to have no serious physical ailments.

As they struggled in the loo, Snape questioned Potter about his life and activities over the last eight months. Potter could and did answer those questions willingly. He spoke in a low voice and with eyes downcast about his time with MacDonald. He remembered the man who had left him with MacDonald. However, when Snape pressed him about what had happened prior to that, back to the time of the final battle and his years at Hogwarts, Potter professed to know nothing about anything. Snape was inclined to believe him.

When he climbed out of the tub, clean now, Harry toweled off, then stood before Snape, naked as the day he was born and with no apparent modesty about standing nude before a man he did not know. "Do you want to put your willie in my bum now?" he offered.

Snape nearly swallowed his tongue. "What?!" He could feel his face flaming. "No!"

"Oh. Do you want me to suck you then?" Harry asked, dropping to his knees and reaching for Snape's trousers.

"No! Potter, stand up now!" Snape demanded, taking a step back.

Slowly, Harry rose to his feet, tears starting to fall from his eyes. "Why did you bring me here?"

Snape inhaled deeply. Obviously, the boy thought Snape was just another "customer" and had brought him here to . . . that didn't bear thinking about. "I brought you here because you did not belong there. There are people who have been looking for you, people that care about you."

"You?" Harry asked, sniffing pathetically. "Do _you_ care about me?"

"Others, Potter," Snape said, unwilling to admit that he cared about Harry Potter, although it had certainly bothered him to know that the savior had been forced into a life of prostitution. "You have friends. Do you remember?"

Harry shook his head, miserable.

"Why are you crying?" Snape asked, already out of his element here with this boy and his problems.

"How am I going to eat if you won't let me do things to you?"

Snape was taken aback by Potter's assumption that unless he performed, he wouldn't be allowed to eat. He really shouldn't have been, he supposed. After all, the boy had been earning his keep on his back and his knees for the last several months. "Potter – Davey, you don't need to worry about that. I will take care of you. I will feed you and provide you with a place to sleep and clothes to wear." At least until someone else took the child off his hands. "We will figure out what has happened to you, and we will make it better. I promise you this. And you do not have to do anything to pay for this. You are Harry Potter, and we owe you – _I_ owe you – everything."

Harry smiled weakly. "Okay."

"Good," Snape breathed a sigh of relief. "Here's a nightshirt you can wear tonight. Get dressed now. And don't forget to brush your teeth."

##########

"You will sleep here," Snape said, leading Potter into his spare bedroom.

"Can't I sleep with you?" the boy asked.

"No. That would be inappropriate. I am just down the hall if you should need me." Snape peeled the blankets back. "In," he ordered.

"Where's bunny?"

"That filthy creature you brought with you? It's here." Snape picked up the disgusting toy and pointed his wand at it.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Relax. I'm only going to clean it." And hopefully kill any germs and vermin it may be carrying.

After a strong and effective cleaning spell, Snape handed the toy to Potter. Harry jumped onto the bed and slid under the covers. He lay back on the pillow, hugging the rabbit, and smiled up at Snape. "Good night kiss?"

"Go to sleep, Potter," Snape growled.

Potter snuggled under the blankets with his stuffed rabbit and closed his eyes, a playful smile quirking his lips up.

Snape rolled his eyes and extinguished the light.

##########

When Snape woke later that night, he immediately realized that there was someone in the bed with him. In the moonlight, he could see Potter sleeping, curled up at his side, arm clutching that battered rabbit. He should make the boy return to his own bed, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, and he rolled over away from the irritating whelp, and went back to sleep.

##########

Snape was awakened another time, somewhat later in the night, by Potter whimpering and twitching in his sleep. The pest had followed him and was once again lying directly by his side. Snape's initial impulse was to push him roughly away, maybe onto the floor even, but he resisted and simply lay on his side studying the boy.

Potter was obviously dreaming, and not pleasantly. In repose, his face lost several years, and he looked very childlike and vulnerable. His incoherent mumbling was punctuated here and there by the word "no" clearly. Snape wondered at what the boy had been through over the past weeks, and he sighed. Tomorrow would be a difficult day. An owl to Headmistress McGonagall was the first order of business. After that, his house was likely to be filled with Potter's legion of fans, a thought which filled him with loathing.

Potter's agitation was increasing, and Snape reached out and prodded the boy to quiet him. Potter latched onto his hand and rolled onto his side, pulling Snape with him so that they lay spooned together.

"Potter!" Snape growled, but the boy didn't stir, quiet now.

Snape sighed again and allowed himself to melt into the boy's heat, slowly slipping back into sleep.

##########

Snape awoke in the morning with the still-sleeping Potter whelp plastered against his side. He got quietly out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. After making tea, he sat at the table with parchment and quill and a hot cuppa and wrote a terse note to Minerva McGonagall.

_I have found Potter. He is with me at my home. Come at once._

_Bring Poppy. And Granger, if you can find her quickly. But_

_tell no one else._

_Severus_

He attached the note to his tawny owl and released her. "Make haste, Freedom."

While Snape waited, he apparated quickly to the market and back, then began breakfast, assuming the boy would be hungry when he woke. He scrambled eggs and toasted bread and cooked sausages, and as though the aromas had woken the boy and summoned him, Potter appeared in the doorway, hair sleep-tousled, still in the nightshirt. "Morning," he said brightly.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Harry was eyeing the food on the table with great interest. "Yeah."

"Are you hungry?"

"Mm hmm."

"Sit and eat," Snape ordered.

Like a shot, Harry was in a chair and stuffing his face. Snape looked on in disgust for a moment. "Potter," he finally said. "Davey!" he tried when "Potter" got no response.

Potter looked up, a sausage sticking half out of his mouth.

"Have you no table manners, boy?"

Harry swallowed a large mouthful of food and bit the dangling sausage in half, allowing the uneaten part to fall back into his plate. "Sorry."

"There is plenty of food," Snape said gently. "You may eat your fill. _Slowly_."

Harry smiled gratefully, but he kept a wary eye on Snape as he resumed eating, more slowly this time, but still hunched over his plate as though to protect it from the other wild animals.

Snape sipped his tea and studied Harry over the top of his cup. "I have sent an owl to Headmistress McGonagall," he announced.

Harry's eyes widened in interest. "You have an owl? Cool! You can send it places? Why would you send your owl to this 'Gonagal'? What's the owl's name? Is he like one of them homing pigeons? They carry messages and stuff and always go back home. Guess that's why they call them _homing_ pigeons!"

Snape blinked at this barrage and wondered where he should begin to respond. "The owl's name is Freedom. She does carry messages for me. Packages as well. And she has taken a message to Minerva McGonagall, who is one of the people who has been looking for you."

"She works at a school?" Harry asked after washing his toast down with a large, slurpy drink of juice.

"You remember her?" Snape asked, his pulse quickening.

"No. You said she was a headmistress."

"Oh," Snape said, deflated. "So I did."

"What kind of juice is this?" Harry asked, taking another gulp. "It's really good."

"It's pumpkin juice."

"Pumpkin juice?" Harry repeated, amused. "How do you get juice from a pumpkin? Do you smash it, like an apple? Did you know people make juice out of carrots? That is just gross. Least apples and pumpkins are juicy. Carrots are just . . . not juicy." Harry shuddered, as though carrot juice were the most horrifying thing he could imagine. "Why did you send that lady a letter?"

Snape was getting whiplash trying to keep up with Harry's disjointed conversation, and he ignored most of it. "She will be very happy to know that you are back. I have asked her to come here, and I expect her to be here shortly. She will be bringing a nurse with her. They will help us figure out what happened to you."

Harry seemed unconcerned about what might possibly have happened to him. "Can I have more juice?"

"Certainly," Snape said, and he summoned the pitcher from the ice box.

Harry's eyes widened to comical proportions at the show of magic. "You just . . . how did you . . . Wow! Do that again!" Harry was bouncing in his seat in his excitement.

"Why would I need to do it again?" Snape asked as he poured more juice into Harry's cup. "I already have the juice." But he sent the pitcher floating back to the ice box, just to see the unabashed awe on the boy's face.

"I would _so_ like to be able to do that," Harry said enviously.

Snape was about to tell him that he _could_ do that when he stopped himself because he didn't know if Potter _could_ any longer. "The headmistress may also bring with her a good friend of yours, Hermione Granger. Do you remember her?"

"No." Harry drained the juice in his cup then and smiled slyly at Snape. "Can I have more juice?"

"No," Snape said, suspecting the boy didn't really want more juice but was only interested in seeing the magic again.

A knock on the front door distracted both of them.

"Go upstairs and get dressed," Snape instructed. "I laid some clothes out on the bed. Come back down when you're ready."

Snape watched the boy wipe his mouth on the sleeve of his nightshirt, then get up and leave the room. He inhaled a fortifying breath and went to open his front door.

"Where is he, Severus?" Minerva demanded anxiously as soon as he opened the door.

"And good morning to you, too, Headmistress," Snape said drily.

"My apologies, Severus," Minerva said as he ushered her and Poppy into the sitting room. "Your note was a shock, obviously. I'd never given up hope that he'd turn up some day." Her eyes were filled with tears. "So forgive me if I'm a little anxious to see the boy."

"He is upstairs, dressing. Were you unable to reach Granger?"

"She is on her way. She was even more anxious than I am, as you might imagine."

"You told her, I hope, not to blab this news to the Weasleys."

"She is a smart girl. She'll tell no one. Is something wrong with Harry, Severus?"

"Yes, something is wrong. I am unsure exactly what. I was hopeful that between the four of us, we could work it out." What was taking the boy so long? "I will go up and see what is keeping him. I should warn you – he won't remember you. He remembers nothing of his life at Hogwarts, up to and including the Final Battle. He remembers none of us. Or so he claims."

"You don't believe him?" Poppy quizzed.

"Actually, I do, but it is possible that he is pretending for some reason. Let me get him. We will figure out what to do together."

Snape entered his bedroom after not finding the boy in the spare bedroom or the loo. A great lump under the duvet on his bed, which was wriggling when he walked in but which stilled immediately, revealed Harry's location.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothin'," came the muffled response.

"Are you hiding?"

"No."

Snape grasped the duvet and pulled it off, revealing Harry lying tightly curled around the decrepit rabbit. He was obviously crying, a fact which he tried to hide by covering his face with the toy.

Snape sat on the edge of the bed. "What is wrong?"

"I miss Maggie," he said miserably.

Maggie? Oh, the girl from yesterday who, now that Snape thought about it, had bushy brown hair and bore a passing resemblance to the Granger chit. Perhaps that was why Potter had bonded so with her.

"You will not be seeing Maggie again," Snape said. There was no point in lying to the boy. Regardless of what turned out to be wrong with him, Potter would not be returning to what had passed for the life he'd been living since the Final Battle. "However, there are people downstairs who care very much about you and who have missed you a great deal. They want you back in their lives and want to help you recover your memories."

Potter did not look comforted by this news. "Will they take me away?"

"I hadn't thought about that." Snape had been looking forward to making Harry Potter someone else's problem, actually, sure that someone would expect (demand even, perhaps) that Potter return to Hogwarts for diagnosis of and recovery from whatever was afflicting him. "I assumed you would want to go to the place you considered home for so long."

"I want to stay with you," Potter mumbled.

"Why?" Snape asked, taken aback.

Potter shrugged without uncurling. "You can do magic."

"So can they." Snape decided to throw caution to the wind. "And so can you. We will get that back for you, Potter."

"Davey," the boy corrected.

Snape sighed. "Davey," he conceded. "Come now. Get up. You are a lot of things, Davey Nothing, but you are not a coward. Get dressed, and we will face the future." Snape summoned the clothing from the other room, which made Harry sit up and take notice and actually smile.

Snape supervised the dressing, unwilling to give the boy another opportunity to malinger, and then led him down the stairs.

By this time, Granger had joined the party. She was bouncing from foot to foot in her agitation, clearly close to coming undone.

"Miss Granger," Snape said, low but firm. "I must ask you to restrain yourself. This is not the boy you knew."

Snape stepped out of the way and allowed Potter into the room. Minerva gasped upon seeing him, and Severus could actually see the battle taking place as Granger fought with her instincts to rush Potter and hug him.

"Hello, Harry," she said instead as a tear slipped down one cheek.

"Harry," Minerva breathed.

"Davey," the boy said stubbornly. "My name is Davey."

The three women looked to Snape for guidance. As though _he_ had any answers.

"Davey, why don't you go into the kitchen and get some more of that pumpkin juice you liked so much," Snape suggested. With a grateful smile, Harry took himself away.

"He is suffering from memory loss," Snape explained. "He cannot recall anything more than eight months prior to today. He also seems to be suffering from some sort of dementia. He seems – almost childlike. He knows nothing of magic. I recovered his wand, but I haven't given it to him yet to see if he can use it."

"Wherever did you find him, Severus?" Minerva asked.

"In a small Muggle pub in the outskirts of a minuscule village near where I was gathering potion ingredients. He was . . . being prostituted."

Granger's horrified gasp earned a glare from Snape.

"The owner informed me that he purchased the boy named Davey from someone who was passing through the village. He'd been there for six months. This man says that Potter's mental condition deteriorated over the time that he was with him."

"And this man just let you take Harry?" Poppy asked.

"I didn't give him any choice in the matter," Snape said simply.

"Thank Merlin you were there, Severus," Minerva breathed, wiping at her eyes.

"Is he injured? Physically?" Poppy wanted to know.

"There are no obvious physical injuries. He's underfed. He was infested with fleas and lice, both of which I have eradicated. He has some minor scratches and bruises. There's the amnesia obviously, and the mental difficulties. I suspect a curse is likely responsible for that. And, of course, there's no telling what psychological issues he has as a result of the sexual abuse he's suffered."

"Severus," Minerva said, the warning in her voice obvious.

Potter stood in the doorway, self-consciously holding his juice cup, looking as though he wanted to flee. When all of the adults turned their eyes to him, he took a drink of the juice, hiding as much as he could behind the cup.

"Come here, Davey," Snape ordered, and without hesitation, Potter crossed the room to stand beside his new friend and protector. "Davey, this is Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey and Hermione Granger. They all knew you before. Poppy is a nurse, and she's going to examine you to make sure you are healthy."

"Will you stay with me?" Potter asked, looking up at Snape with pleading eyes.

Snape flicked a nervous glance at Granger, though he wasn't sure why. "Yes, of course."

"Har–" Hermione started, then stopped. "Davey. I have something that belongs to you. May I give it to you?"

Harry looked up at Snape first, then nodded at Hermione. Hermione reached into the pocket of her robes and then extended her arm toward Harry. Harry's glasses lay in the palm of her hand.

"I've kept them for you. We found them after the battle. I knew we'd find you and you'd want them back. Go ahead – put them on."

Again, Potter looked up at Snape. When the older man nodded, Harry carefully removed the glasses from Hermione's hand and put them on. Through the blessing of improved vision, Harry looked at them all, blinking owlishly to adjust.

"I can see!" Harry gasped when his eyes settled on Hermione. "You look like Maggie," he whispered.

"Who's Maggie?" Hermione asked.

"She was my friend."

"I'd like to be your friend, too," Hermione offered, tears slipping down her cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" Potter asked.

"I'm just so happy we found you," she said. "I've missed you."

Potter smiled uncertainly at her. She seemed like a nice lady, and he would have liked to be able to say he'd missed her, too, but he couldn't because he didn't remember her.

Snape had had enough of the tender reunion in any event. "Davey, why don't you sit so Madam Pomfrey can begin her examination."

Looking somewhat nervous, Harry settled himself on the sofa. When Poppy approached him with her wand, his eyes widened.

"Don't worry, dear," she assured him. "This isn't going to hurt at bit."

Harry sat, trying not to squirm as Madam Pomfrey ran her wand slowly down his body. When she was finished, she sighed. "You were right, Severus. There are no real physical injuries. He needs to gain some weight, but other than that, he is quite healthy. A mental status examination would reveal significantly more about the state of his psyche. We should call in a curse detection expert as well."

"Can you see any reason not to use legillimency on him?" Snape asked. "It may be useful if I can find a memory of the Final Battle. Perhaps the answer to this question lies locked in his mind somewhere."

"He's too fragile," Granger asserted. "You could do irreparable damage."

"I believe it worth the risk. If we can identify the curse, we're that much closer to being able to reverse the damage," Snape argued.

"But we could be risking Harry's long-term mental health," Granger countered.

"That's always been at issue," Snape shot back.

"Poppy," Minerva interjected with a stern look at the man, "what are the risks?"

"Well, that's difficult to say. But Severus is right – if we can identify the curse, we can begin to counteract it. Without this knowledge, there is no telling how much time we will spend identifying the curse and what effects Harry might suffer in the meantime."

All the juice Harry had drunk was catching up to him. "I have to pee," he announced to the room.

"You know where the loo is, I believe," Snape said.

Harry jumped up off the sofa and retreated quickly up the stairs.

"It may be the quickest route to a solution, Hermione," Minerva offered.

Hermione nodded. She understood that. "He just seems so vulnerable. Like a little boy lost. Could it be some kind of de-aging curse?"

"That possibility had occurred to me already," Snape said. "Unfortunately, there are many, many types of de-aging curses, and if we were to attempt a cure without knowing the exact curse used, we could cause him to lose what's left of his mind."

"It's progressive," Minerva offered.

"That is generally the case," Snape admitted. "And I believe the evidence we have supports that assumption."

"What exactly does that mean?" Hermione asked.

"It means that if we can't stop the progression of the curse, Potter will simply de-age himself out of existence. Physically, his body will remain as it is now, but his brain will eventually basically cease to function."

"How long do we have?" Hermione again.

"That's impossible to say. It's been eight months, so obviously the curse, if that is indeed what it is, is slow-acting, or he would be dead already. You must see the advantage in being able to identify the curse sooner rather than later."

"I do," Hermione agreed. "Just – don't hurt him, Professor. He's already been through so much."

##########

Snape instructed Potter to sit on the sofa and then sat beside him. The three women hovered nearby out of sight, all of them anxious, Hermione especially wringing her hands. With everyone looking at him, Harry was nervous, and he toyed with the hem of his shirt.

"Look at me," Snape softly ordered.

When Potter raised his green eyes trustingly, Snape wasted no time. "Legillimens!" With no ability to occlude or even any knowledge that he should, Harry offered his memories up for Snape's examination.

_Potter, looking up at a large-nosed, black-haired stranger who seemed to know him_

Snape passed quickly by this one – it was of no assistance.

_Potter sitting on the floor next to the girl Maggie, her face bruised, her lip swollen and split. Potter stroked her head as she cried._

One of the problems with being a pimped whore, Snape noted, was the inability to say "no" to a customer, even one that brutalized you.

_Potter, this time on the bed of straw, the boy's eyes squeezed shut as he grimaced as though in terrible pain. He was trembling. His head_

_lay in Maggie's lap, and she sang sweetly to him as she held a cool flannel to his forehead, lessening somewhat the pain that thundered_

_through his head._

Snape made a mental note to himself to examine this memory more closely later. And now a succession of images of men.

_Potter doing things to men. Men doing things to Potter. To his mouth, his arse. Men hitting Potter. Men being incredibly loving and gentle_

_with Potter as they raped him. Men insisting that Potter call them _"_Daddy". Caleb, the barkeep's son, taking what he wanted from Potter._

And mixed among those images:

_Potter waking up next to Maggie with a morning erection, the girl pulling him close, and Potter entering her with something close to_

_reverence, the two of them moving in synchronized harmony until both found their release simultaneously._

It was almost beautiful to see, and Snape stopped to watch with only a little shame. But then it was:

_MacDonald telling Potter that he'd bought him, and damn it, he was sure going to test his new merchandise before offering it to his customers. _

From the way he begged the much larger man to stop and at the pain from the less than careful preparation before penetration, Snape surmised this was Potter's first time, and he winced for the boy, that his virginity should be stolen by such a man and in such a way.

_MacDonald then allowing a starving Potter to eat, explaining to him that if he wanted to eat again, he'd best learn to satisfy his customers. And Potter, confused and adrift and abandoned, had done so, understanding on a primitive level what he needed to do to survive._

And now:

_Potter with a different man, a man he'd called Steven, a man to whom he'd attached himself when he'd found himself disoriented and alone, with no memory of who he was or what had happened to him or how he'd come to be where he was and an inability to focus long enough to even attempt to figure it out._

As best Snape could tell, Potter had been with this Steven for a couple of months. Steven had been nothing but kind to Potter, sharing what little food he had with the boy, protecting him, keeping him warm and safe. There were no memories of the man harming Potter in any way, at least until the final betrayal of selling the boy to a pedophile and into a life of prostitution.

The last concrete memory Snape found was of Potter, wandering in a sparsely wooded area, alone and with no apparent idea of a destination as he put one foot down in front of another, hunger gnawing at his belly, an emptiness clawing at his brain, an ill-defined need to put distance between himself and . . . something. There was a feeling of intense desperation and terror that made Snape shiver.

Before that, there were only fleeting images: battle sounds, cries and shouts, the sizzle of hexes flying, bodies falling, blood, lots of blood. A moment of light so intense it was painful, so intense nothing else could exist in the world. And then, inexplicably, birds singing.

And before that? Nothing. Not nothing the like of which a Legillimens encounters with a novice Occlumens learning to block mind access by blocking everything. Just – nothing. Where should have been memories of Potter's life at school, with his friends, suffering with his horrible relations, quidditch, there was a blankness, a lack of thought and memory. Encountering no resistence, Snape continued to search for a time for something, _anything_, until he became convinced there just wasn't anything to find.

He pulled out of Potter's mind, exhausted by the length of the session, glad he was sitting as he surely would have collapsed had he been standing. His first thought was to check on the boy, but Potter seemed unperturbed by Snape's foray through his subconscious. Snape sat back against the sofa and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Severus?" Minerva prompted impatiently. "Did you learn anything helpful?"

Snape opened his eyes. "I don't know. My pensieve is there on the shelf," he instructed. He felt too weak to get up for it himself. "If you would be so kind as to fetch it here."

"Excellent idea," Poppy said. "We can see for ourselves what has happened to the boy."

"Are you all right, Professor?" Granger asked him solicitously, eying him with concern.

Snape had collapsed against the sofa and closed his eyes again, but at her question, he sat up straighter and forced his eyes open. "I am fine, thank you, Miss Granger." And because she had shown him kindness, he would attempt to do the same for her, though he knew she wouldn't heed his advice. "You should stay out of the pensieve."

"Is it that bad?" she asked quietly as Minerva set the pensieve on a small table she'd transfigured from a potions journal.

"It is not a pleasant experience to watch a friend go through. I would not like for what has happened to Potter against his will to change how you view him."

Snape saw the understanding dawn in her eyes, but her jaw set more resolutely. As he had known it would. "I want to help him, sir. I think I can do that best if I know what happened." She looked at Harry and smiled, a heartbroken smile. "I'll not love him any less for it."

If he could have, Snape would have awarded her points. Instead, he turned to the boy. "Davey." When Potter turned his eyes on him, Snape could clearly see the confusion there about what was going on, what these people were all doing here, what that large bowl was. He knew if he let Potter get started, he'd face a never-ending barrage of questions. "In the kitchen you will find a basket of kittens. Why don't you get them and bring them out here to play with?"

Potter's face brightened with obvious interest. "Kittens?"

"Kittens," Snape confirmed.

Harry jumped excitedly off the sofa and raced into the kitchen.

"You had a basket of kittens in your kitchen?" Hermione asked, disbelieving that this was a mere coincidence.

Snape shrugged. "I summoned them just now. If we're all going into the pensieve, it's best if he's occupied."

"Look at the kittens!" they heard a joyous shout from the other room.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said. "For finding him. For bringing him home to us."

"Don't thank me yet, Miss Granger," Snape said, uncomfortable. "If we cannot cure him, it may well be pointless."

"Not pointless, sir," she contradicted, tears in her eyes again. "Even if we can't, he'll at least be among people who love him when he . . ." She couldn't say it, couldn't make herself believe that it would come to that. They would find a way. They _had_ to.

Potter burst into the room. "Look everyone! Kittens!"

The three women smiled fondly at his child-like glee. To counteract the maudlin aura permeating the room, Snape's tone went brisk. "Davey, we are all going to be occupied for some time. You are to play with the kittens and NOT TOUCH ANYTHING. Do you understand?"

"Uh huh," the boy said, his eyes not leaving the basket. "Can I take them out?"

"You may. We will be a few minutes. Stay in this room and behave."

Potter stared up at Snape as the man placed his wand to his temple and pulled silvery strands from his hair. Still staring, he sat on the floor and removed the kittens from the basket as the others all bent around the large bowl and stuck their faces into it. Adults sure were weird, Harry thought as he patted a squirming mass of kitten fur.

##########

When they returned from the pensieve, it was several moments before anyone could speak. Hermione sat down hard in the nearest available chair, fighting back tears, keeping her eyes steadfastly cast down. If she looked at Harry now, she'd rush to him and hold him, which would likely scare him witless in his present condition.

Unaware of the turmoil being experienced by the others in the room, Harry lay on the floor, pulling the lace he'd removed from his trainer along the floor and giggling when the kittens pounced on it.

Finally, Minerva said, "That was awful."

"But was it helpful?" Snape asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly, wishing he could erase the images from his brain.

"It would certainly explain why Harry had withdrawn into himself, if that's what he has done," Poppy mused. She looked down at Harry. "But this seems like much more than that. The missing memories, the childlike behavior – it all points to a curse."

"I would agree," Snape said. "Minerva?"

"I would have to defer to both of you, I suppose. Your expertise in this area is much greater than mine."

"Miss Granger," Snape said. "Have you anything to add?"

Hermione lurched to her feet. "I'm sorry. I need a moment." And she stumbled from the room as quickly as she could without running.

Severus rolled his eyes and made a tsking sound of disgust. "She's falling apart. She may as well not have come."

"Give her a moment to collect herself," Minerva chided. "She's young, and she loves him. She will be strong for him."

Hermione found herself in Severus' kitchen, and she braced herself on the kitchen table, letting the tears come, knowing she'd not get it out of her system until she did.

"Are you okay?" a soft voice asked behind her.

Hermione whirled around, dashing the tears from her eyes, smiling weakly at Harry. "I'm fine," she said even as her heart broke further on looking at her dear friend, so lost inside himself.

"Are you sad?" Harry pursued.

"I am," Hermione confirmed.

"Why?"

"A friend of mine – someone I love very much – he's been hurt very badly, and I just feel for him and wish there was something I could do to make him better."

Harry pondered this. "That man, out there." Hermione knew he meant Snape. "He said that you're my friend."

"That's right," Hermione confirmed with a watery smile and a nod. "We've been friends since you were . . . for seven years."

"Am _I_ the friend you'd like to help?"

"Yes."

"Are you _going _to help me?" Harry wasn't entirely sure why he _needed _help, but these people seemed to think he did, and they were grown-ups, so they must know.

"I'm going to try my hardest," she promised. "And so will Professor Snape and the Headmistress and Madam Pomfrey and so many people you don't even realize who would do anything for you."

"Are you still sad?"

Hermione nodded. "A little."

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

"I would really like a hug," Hermione admitted. "It's okay if you don't want to, though. I understand."

But Harry had already closed the distance between them and was wrapping her in his arms. Hermione hugged him back, rested her head on his shoulder, and tried not to bawl.

Snape found them this way a few moments later. "Everyone all right?"

Hermione pulled away from Harry reluctantly. She could do this – she could pull herself together and help Harry. They _would_ help Harry. They would _not_ let him die. "We're good."

"Madam Pomfrey is preparing for the exam."

Hermione smiled at him. "I'll go see what I can do." She left them.

"I like her," Harry said. "She was sad, so I hugged her."

"That was kind of you."

"I liked hugging her," Harry said simply. "She felt nice."

Snape didn't need to examine that statement too closely, as just how much he enjoyed it was visibly apparent if Snape allowed his gaze to drop south of the boy's belt. An eighteen-year old body controlled by a much more juvenile mind could be problematic, to say the least.

"She reminds me of Maggie," Harry said, somewhat sadly.

Snape didn't want to think about the unfortunate girl who had cared for and consoled Potter. "Where are the kittens?" he asked.

Harry looked around the kitchen. "I don't know."

"Never mind. We'll round them up later. Come. They are waiting for us."

Poppy was explaining the mental status examination when they returned. "The exam will give us a look at the status of Harry's mental faculties. I'll be able to determine at what age he is functioning mentally, whether any part of his brain has been damaged, if there are any other issues. Come and sit," Poppy said, inviting Harry to sit by patting the sofa beside her.

Nervously, Harry looked up at Snape, who nodded encouragingly. Harry sat, and Poppy arranged him comfortably back against the pillows. "Now, just close your eyes. This won't hurt a bit, and we'll be all finished in just a few minutes."

Harry closed his eyes and settled back. Poppy lifted her wand and twirled it in lazy circles over Harry's head. After only a few moments, she stopped. "Ten," she said, her voice flat with disbelief. "He has the mental age of ten."

The math was easy. Harry had been eighteen when he'd been struck by the curse (assuming that's what it was). That was eight months ago. Eight years in eight months. One year lost for every month since the curse. That meant they had less than a year to figure out how he'd been cursed and stop the progression of that curse, at which point they'd have to try to reverse it. Ten months seemed forever, but given the sheer number of curses that could have been used and the obscurity of many of them, the task was daunting.

"Ow," Harry said as Poppy's news was sinking in to everyone else. "Ow ow ow," he wailed as he clutched at his head.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked. "You said this wouldn't hurt!"

"It didn't!" Poppy proclaimed. "It doesn't!"

"Owwww!" Harry wailed. "My head! Make it stop! Please make it stop!"

Snape thought he knew what this was, and he summoned a headache draught, a calming elixir, and a cold wet flannel as he knelt beside the crying boy.

Harry rolled to his side and vomited on himself, the sofa, Snape and the carpet. With the ease of long practice, Poppy banished the mess before anyone could even really react to it.

"Davey," Snape said, reaching up to pry Potter's arms away from his head. "Hush, Davey." He forced Potter onto his back and lay the cool flannel across his forehead. Harry quieted immediately and moaned in appreciation. "Drink this," Snape urged, pressing one of the vials to the boy's lips. Harry trustingly downed that one and the one that followed. Once the potions took effect, Harry lay quietly on the sofa, panting slightly, eyes closed.

Snape sat back on his heels, studying the boy, an idea forming in his mind.

"You think this is the same as what happened in the memory, where the girl . . . Maggie was comforting him?" Hermione asked, following him down his road of speculation.

Snape nodded. "A skilled legillimens can feel emotions on some level when viewing memories. He was in great pain at that time, as he was now. Davey," he said softly, not knowing if the headache was accompanied by a sensitivity to sound. "Have you had a headache like this before?"

"Yeah," Harry whispered. "I get them sometimes. But it's getting better now. The medicine you gave me was really good. Can I go to sleep now?"

"Yes, Davey. You can sleep," Snape told him. Snape summoned Potter's toy rabbit from upstairs and placed it in the boy's arms, then covered him with the thin quilt which was draped over the back of the sofa. He then turned to the mediwitch. "Poppy, do the exam again."

"But I just did it," Poppy protested.

"What if it caused the headache!" Hermione complained, hovering worriedly over Harry.

"I don't believe it caused the headache. I think the headache was a symptom of the larger problem. Do it, Poppy."

Pomfrey raised her arm and rotated her wand once again over the oblivious boy's head. "Nine," she said in wonder a few moments later. "Now he's nine."

"So the headache is an indicator that the curse is at work?" Hermione guessed.

"Yes," Snape confirmed. And now they had one less month to work with.

They moved into the kitchen so they could speak without disturbing the now-sleeping boy on the sofa.

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked.

"It would seem our primary responsibility now would be to keep him safe while we work out what curse was used on him," Minerva noted, nodding her thanks to Severus when he handed her a cup of tea. "Until we identify it, we cannot reverse it."

"So what becomes of the boy in the meantime?" Poppy asked.

"He'll have to stay somewhere safe," Minerva stated. "Someone will have to keep an eye on him, obviously. A nine-year old boy cannot be left to his own devices. Who else are we going to alert to his return?"

"The fewer who know, the better," Snape said. "There are still those who would wish him dead. In his current vulnerable state, he cannot be expected to defend himself."

"I must tell Ron," Hermione said quietly. She could not keep this from him.

Snape wanted to argue against the advisability of this, but instead he said, "I think it best that he is the only Weasley who knows. The larger the circle, the better the chance that word gets out to the world at large."

Hermione nodded. She loved the Weasleys, but keeping secrets was not their strong suit. Percy would feel obligated to inform the Ministry. Fred and George were about as discrete as two mountain trolls. No, telling only Ron was their best bet at keeping Harry and his condition secret.

"I think Hogwarts is the best place for him now," Minerva offered. "It's empty except for Filch and Sybil. He'll need someone to stay with him, of course."

Here, everyone turned to Snape.

"Why are you all looking at me?" he protested.

"Well, I can't do it," Minerva said calmly. "I'm leaving for Durmstrang next week. The annual conference of the International Society of Headmasters. My attendance was planned and paid for weeks ago."

"And I'm off to Canada for the mediwitch conference," Poppy explained. "Can't miss it – they only hold meetings every five years."

Snape turned pleading eyes on Hermione.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I'd take him in a heartbeat. It's just that . . ." Hermione stopped, chewing her bottom lip in irritation.

"It's her parents, Severus," Minerva explained. "She obliviated them before leaving to hunt for horcruxes with Harry. She's having difficulty reversing the spell."

"That's what comes of being a formidably talented witch," Snape said, somewhat meanly. It wasn't that he was lacking in sympathy for her plight – he just hadn't planned on spending his summer hols babysitting. He sighed. "It wouldn't have worked anyway likely. He _very_ much enjoyed hugging you, Miss Granger."

At her look of confusion, Snape spelled it out. "He has an eighteen-year old's body with an eighteen-year old's hormones. And the physical and emotional control of a nine-year old. When I say he very much enjoyed hugging you, I mean he _very much enjoyed hugging you_."

"Oh." Hermione's cheeks flushed red instantly. "Oh. He . . ."

"Yes," Snape confirmed, then he sighed. "I suppose with the amount of research that needs to be done, Hogwarts is the best place to be in any event."

"He seems to trust you, Professor," Hermione said. "Once I get my parents sorted out, maybe Ron and I can take him. I'll help all I can with the research in the meantime."

"Fine," Snape said, resigned to his fate. "We shall return to Hogwarts tomorrow. Minerva, if you could see to some clothing for the boy. He has nothing. What he had when I found him was little better than rags. I've transfigured some things for him, but I'd rather not sacrifice my entire wardrobe."

"Of course, Severus. I'll see to it," Minerva promised. "Will you want new quarters, or would you prefer to stay in your own?"

"I will stay in mine." If he had to spend the summer at Hogwarts, he was damn well going to do it some place familiar and comfortable.

"I'll return there now, then, and get started on adding a bedroom to your suite of rooms," Minerva offered, and she apparated away after wishing them all a good day.

Poppy went into the sitting room to examine a still-sleeping Harry. "He's fine," she declared. "I'll be getting back now as well. Call me if you need anything, Severus."

Left alone with her former professor, Hermione was visibly nervous. "I'm sorry to have to leave him with you, Professor," she said, sounding tired and much older than her years.

"Severus," Snape said. He was no longer her professor. "If you would like to write down for me what spell you used on your parents and what attempts you have made to undo it, I will see if there isn't some way I can assist you with that problem."

Hermione's face showed her gratitude and relief. "Thank you . . . Severus. Would it be all right if I come back tomorrow? Or Ron? Or both of us?"

"Miss Granger . . ."

"Hermione," she interrupted.

"Hermione. I suddenly find myself the sole caretaker of an overly large nine-year old. I would be a fool to refuse any offer of assistance."

Hermione smiled in understanding, then said, "Oh!" when a ball of black fur came streaking out from behind the ice box. "The kittens."

"I'd forgotten about them," Snape confessed. "I suppose I should return them."

"Where did they come from?"

"They were in a basket in the village with a sign that said 'Free to a Good Home'." Severus reached down and grabbed up the squirming kitten.

"So they don't belong to anyone then? I'll take one." She'd recently lost old Crookshanks and had been thinking about adopting another pet.

Severus extended his arm to her and dropped the kitten into her hands. "He's all yours."

"What will you do with the other two?"

"I suppose I could keep them," Severus said. "For mice. And Harry seemed taken with them."

Hermione smiled. "I'm going to see if Harry's awake to say goodbye." She stood up, cradling the kitten and went into the sitting room. She sat on the edge of the sofa and smoothed Harry's hair back away from his forehead, exposing that famous scare. Gratitude welled up inside her, that they had found him, despite the dire circumstances he was in. She'd do anything to fix him, now that they had him back.

Harry's eyes fluttered open under her stroking hand, and he smiled sleepily up at her. "Hi."

"Hello, Davey," she said with a genuine smile. "I'm sorry to wake you. How's your headache?"

Harry scooted up into a sitting position. "Gone. What are you doing with the kitten?"

Hermione looked down at the now-docile creature in her lap. "I'm taking him home with me. I'm keeping him."

"What about the others?"

Hermione smiled. "They're staying here with you."

Harry's joyful smile warmed Hermione's heart. "Listen, I have to go."

The smile faltered. "Will you come back?"

"I hope to come back tomorrow. But if I can't, I'm going to send another friend. His name is Ron. He's been your friend even longer than I have. He will be so anxious to see you again! Will you be okay here?"

Harry shrugged. "Here's all right. No one hurts me here."

"No one's going to hurt you ever again," Hermione said fiercely. "I promise you that!"

"Can I have another hug before you go?" Harry asked with a somewhat sly grin.

Hermione guessed why he wanted it, but she couldn't say no to him, not now, and she leaned forward and put her arms around him, pulling him close. Harry rested his head on her shoulder and held her tightly.

When Hermione tried to pull away, Harry held her tighter. "Har– Davey!" she scolded playfully. Harry giggled and let her go.

Hermione stood up. "I'll see you soon. Welcome home."

"Bye," Harry said. After she'd gone, he sat up on the sofa and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Are you hungry?" Snape asked.

Harry looked up. "Yeah!"

##########

"Can't I sleep with you?" Harry whined.

"No. This is your bed. You will sleep here," Snape instructed firmly. "In. Now."

Harry leapt onto the bed and flounced to the top, arranging himself under the blanket. Snape handed over the blue rabbit and Harry hugged it before tucking it gently under the covers beside him. "Kiss?" he asked, looking hopefully up at Snape.

"Go to sleep," Snape growled. He snapped the light off and closed the door.

##########

Two hours later, Snape lay aside the book he'd been reading, extinguished the burning candles, sank into his pillows, and lay there breathing deeply, attempting to clear his mind. Tension slowly left his body. Until he heard his bedroom door open, slowly, then, just as slowly, close again.

In the darkness, Snape rolled his eyes. Had the imp lay in bed for the last two hours, waiting for his chance to sneak into Snape's bed? He wanted to see what the boy would do. He was apparently waiting to see if Snape was actually asleep, because in the gloom, Snape could see him just standing there, the rabbit tucked under his arm. How long would the holy terror just stand there?

Another three minutes. Snape counted. Then Harry took one cautious step toward the bed. The next step caused a floor board to creak, and Harry said, "Fuck!" under his breath and stopped again.

Snape nearly laughed aloud at the boy's ineffective (non-existent, really) sneaking skills. He really should growl at the boy and send him back to his own bed, but he didn't have the heart. He was a traumatized nine-year old, alone and likely scared. So he lay still, waiting for the boy to resume his trek across the room.

Finally, Harry made it to the bed, and Snape felt him slowly and carefully pull the covers back, sit gingerly on the edge of the bed, then slide into it. Harry lay as close to the edge of the bed as he could without falling off and emitted a small, happy sigh.

Snape smiled into the darkness, closed his eyes, and let himself drift off to sleep.

Of course, when he woke up, the heat-seeking limpet had plastered himself to Snape's side in the night. Snape took himself and his morning erection off to the bathroom as quickly as possible.

##########

Harry sat on the sofa, one of the kittens on his lap, sniggering behind his hand at Snape.

"What are you snickering at, imp?" Snape growled.

"You . . . you have a cobweb in your hair," Harry said, laughing harder.

Snape rolled his eyes. "You are acting like such a nine-year old," he said after he ran a hand through his hair to dislodge the sticky web. He'd been up in the attic rummaging for some things he'd remembered being up there. He'd found them in a far corner, and he'd brought them down. For the boy. Who was laughing at him. He set the box down with a thump.

Harry set the kitten on the sofa and, unable to contain his rampant curiosity, came to stand beside Snape. "What's in the box?"

"Some things I remembered from my childhood. Books and toys."

Harry poked inquisitively at the things in the box. "A yo-yo!" he said, extricating the toy from the box. He released the yo-yo and watched as it bounded half-heartedly at the end of the string. "It's broken," he complained.

"You just have to know how to do it." Snape took the yo-yo from the boy and demonstrated how it was _supposed_ to work.

"Wow!" Harry said, impressed.

Snape handed the toy back. "Practice. You'll get it."

Snape searched through the box. "Ah," he said. "This is what I was looking for." He pulled several books out and looked at them fondly. They were well-worn and obviously had been read many times.

"Books?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Potter, books. Words strung together to make sentences and paragraphs, then bound together for others to peruse. Familiar with the concept?"

Harry looked at him rather blankly, and Snape realized with a start that he was being a little harsh with the boy. This was not the same irritating Harry Potter who had plagued him during his school days. "Do you like to read, Davey?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno."

Snape handed the books to Harry and said, "Bring them and follow me."

Snape led the way into the room he used for brewing potions when he was here. "Sit here," he said, patting a stool in the corner. "Read to me."

"Which one?"

"You choose."

Snape began to pack the materials he wanted to take back to Hogwarts with him while Harry sorted through the books. The boy settled onto the stool and began to read.

"_There once was a girl-bird named Gertrude McFuzz_

_And she had the smallest plain tail ever was_"

Good. He could read, at least as well as your average nine-year old. Snape hadn't been sure if Harry had retained such rudimentary skills, but he obviously had. That was a good sign. He'd test his mathematical abilities later, and perhaps once they were back at Hogwarts, try to ascertain whether the boy possessed any magic or the ability to control it. For now, he tuned the voice out and turned his attention to his packing.

##########

Severus put his fork down after finishing his lunch. "I need you to pack your things."

Harry's eyes widened and filled with fearful tears, and it took a moment before Snape realized why. "We are going away _together_," he said gently.

Harry sagged visibly in relief. "Where are we going?"

"We are going to Hogwarts. That is the school you once attended. It is summer, and no one is there, so we will have the place to ourselves."

"_Why _are we going?"

"There is a large library there which will be helpful as we attempt to help you. I have rooms there."

"Why?"

"I teach there."

"What do you teach?"

"Potions."

"What's that?" Harry asked, crinkling his nose in what really was an endearing manner.

"The science of mixing ingredients together to make compounds."

"Was I your student once?"

"Yes."

"Was I good at potions?"

"No, Davey. Unfortunately, you were not."

"What was my name again – before?"

"Harry Potter."

"You knew me when I was – Harry Potter?"

"Yes."

"Why do you call me Davey then?"

"I thought you would be more comfortable with it."

"But I'm really Harry Potter?"

"You really are."

"You can call me that – Harry, I mean. If you want. I don't mind."

"All right, then. I would suggest that you go and pack up your rabbit. Put him in the box with the toys and the books. We will take everything with us when we go."

"What about George and Gracie?"

"George and Gracie?" Severus repeated.

"The kittens."

"Ah. George and Gracie?" he repeated. "Where on earth did those names come from?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno."

"In any event, they will accompany us."

"Yay!" Harry said, jumping up so fast he nearly tipped his chair over. "I'll go get Bunny and the other stuff, then I'll find George and Gracie."

"Scoot," Snape urged, and Harry ran excitedly from the room.

##########

Ron arrived just before Snape was to take Harry to Hogwarts.

"Mr. Weasley. I'd begun to think you weren't coming."

"Sorry," Ron said, his eyes on Harry. "I had a lot of questions for Hermione. Hello, Ha– Davey. My name is Ron. Ron Weasley."

Harry smiled shyly. "Hi. Are you my friend?"

"I am. We've been friends since we – since _I_ was eleven."

"Mr. Weasley, we were just about to adjourn to Hogwarts. Perhaps you would accompany us and you can entertain Mr. Potter while I speak with the Headmistress."

"Sure," Ron agreed willingly. "Do you need any help?"

Snape patted the pockets of his robe. "We are packed and ready. We shall meet you outside the gates. Harry, come here."

Ron watched, amazed, as Harry Potter stepped willingly into Severus Snape's embrace before they both apparated away.

"Bloody hell," Ron breathed before following them.

##########

"Can I take him out to the quidditch pitch, Professor?" Ron asked after they'd gotten Harry settled into his new dungeon bedroom.

There was no on one on the school grounds with the exception of a handful of staff. They should be safe enough on the pitch. "Do you intend to take him flying?"

"I thought to."

"Remember that he is nine years old, if you would, Mr. Weasley."

"Yes, sir. How'd you like to go flying, D-Davey?" Ron's tongue tripped over the unfamiliar appellation.

"He will answer to Harry," Snape informed him.

"Can I go?" Harry asked excitedly.

Snape nodded. "You may. Stay with Mr. Weasley. Behave and be careful."

Ron gawped at Snape again. The austere man sounded almost . . . parental. It was disconcerting. "I'll take good care of him."

"See that you do."

##########

Snape was on his way to the quidditch pitch. He'd checked in with Minerva, finished unpacking, and sat with a relaxing glass of scotch. He'd expected Weasley and the boy back by now, and he was on his way to reclaim his charge. Not that he was worried or anything like that. It simply was a beautiful day and just right for a leisurely stroll about the grounds.

He heard voices approaching before he could see them, two male voices, both low in pitch, though one chattered excitedly, as if there weren't enough minutes in the hour to get all of the words out. He rounded the corner of the quidditch stadium and stopped in his tracks. Here were Weasley and Potter, walking toward him, Weasley looking just as he had when last he'd seen him. Potter, however, was covered from head to toe with mud. It was in his hair, on his face, his clothes, his shoes. Snape's scrutiny revealed a cut on Potter's forehead which was only visible through the dirt on his head because it had oozed blood, a rip in his right sleeve, and a hole in the right knee of his (Snape's!) trousers.

When Harry spotted Snape, a large grin spread across his face and he went bounding toward the older man. Snape stopped, horrified, certain that the boy intended to fling his filthy self into Snape's arms.

Much to Snape's relief, the boy stopped short in front of him. "Sir!" he said, looking up at Snape with excitement positively vibrating off him. "Flying was brilliant!"

"Can I assume it was the landing that has left you looking like a swamp monster?"

"I fell off the broom!" Harry announced as though it were the most fun he'd ever had in his entire life.

Snape turned an accusing glare on Weasley.

"He was three feet off the ground!" Ron said in self-defense. "But well, you know, it rained last night, and there was this puddle . . ."

"Are you injured?" Snape asked the boy.

"Nah! It was awesome! I fell off and splashed right into this giant puddle! Want me to show you? I could go get the broom and do it again!"

"That won't be necessary," Snape assured him. "I have seen you fall off your broom on more than one occasion. That is enough for my entire lifetime. You have a cut on your forehead."

Harry reached up to touch it, as though just realizing it was there. "It's okay," he said, smearing the blood so that it blended in with the mud already drying there.

"Did you not think to heal his injury, Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked Ron.

"I wasn't sure you'd want me using magic on him. I can do it now."

"I will take care of it. Once he is clean. Come, Mr. Potter. You are in desperate need of a bath."

"I'll just head home, I guess," Ron said. "Sorry about," he waved vaguely at Harry, "this, Professor."

Snape shrugged dismissively. "He is a boy. Boys fall off brooms and get covered in mud." Snape had not done these things as a boy, but he'd known many others who had.

"So I can come back then?" Ron asked hopefully.

"You may come as often as you like. I'm sure Mr. Potter would appreciate your company."

"I'll see you tomorrow then. Bye, Harry!"

"Bye, Ron! Thanks for taking me flying!"

"We'll do it again some time. Maybe tomorrow."

"Brilliant!"

Snape walked Harry back up to the castle, the boy chattering animatedly and non-stop the entire way. Clearly, he enjoyed flying just as much now as he had in his previous life. Harry was still yammering on when Snape helped him to undress and get into the bathtub. After healing his cuts and supervising his washing, Snape went into the boy's bedroom to retrieve clean clothes. He took a moment to enjoy the blessed silence before returning to the bathroom.

Just as he was about to enter, Snape heard a throaty moan emanating from inside. Immediately concerned, Snape pushed the door open, only to wish he hadn't. Potter was sitting in the tub, the hand wrapped around his hardened penis pistoning up and down, his face reflecting pain and confusion and a little fear. When he spotted Snape at the door, his hand slowed but did not stop completely.

"I can't . . ." he panted. "I don't . . . know what I'm doing! It hurts!"

Torn between the desire to flee and the desire to help the boy, Snape forced himself to step into the room. "It's all right, Harry. Just relax. What you're doing is perfectly normal." For the eighteen-year old that Harry's body thought he was. No so much for the nine-year old living inside the skull.

"I can't stop!" Harry wailed. "What do I do?"

How was it possible, given how this boy was "employed" for several months, that he did not know the mechanics of reaching orgasm? Likely Harry's pleasure had never been anyone's primary concern. "I am going to leave you now," Snape explained. "You are going to continue doing what you're doing. You will know when you are finished. What will happen is perfectly natural. You needn't be afraid."

Snape left the room and closed the door as Harry's frantic self-ministrations resumed. He retreated to the sitting room where, he hoped, he wouldn't be able to hear it when Potter reached culmination. Hard under his robes, Snape chanted to himself, "He's nine years old. He's nine years old," until the shout from the bathroom he'd hoped not to hear drove him to the scotch.

Twenty minutes later, Potter joined Snape, dropping into a chair by the hearth. "Is there something wrong with me?" the boy asked miserably.

Snape drew a fortifying breath, trying to draw the strength to get him through this discussion. "There is nothing wrong with you. What you did is called masturbation. It is a very normal way for young men to relieve sexual pressure. Your body, Harry, is eighteen years old, and you physically have the needs of healthy young man. There is no reason why you shouldn't satisfy those needs. However, if you choose to do so, you will do it in private and discretely. You will _not_ do it in my bed, even if you wake with an erection."

"What's an erection?"

Merlin! This boy knew _nothing_! "An erection is when your penis fills with blood and becomes hard."

"Penis?" Harry repeated.

"Your . . ." What term had the boy used? "Your willie."

"Oh." Harry's eyes were trained on the floor.

"Harry," Snape said. When the boy looked up at him, he continued. "You're perfectly normal. Masturbation is perfectly normal."

"Do _you_ do it?"

Snape flinched. Walked right into that one, hadn't he? "While it _is_ perfectly normal, masturbation is also private, and we will not discuss it again."

Harry accepted this with an off-hand, "All right."

Snape cleared his throat, the subject closed. "Are you hungry?" That never failed to distract the boy.

Harry nodded eagerly.

##########

Harry tuned out the adults and stared fascinated around the Headmistress' office at all of the gadgets and gizmos, a legacy, though Harry didn't currently know it, of Albus Dumbledore. His hands itched to touch, to hold, to experience, but Snape had already warned him not to touch anything. And he was still insecure enough in his position with his new guardian to overtly disobey.

"Harry, come here,"Snape requested.

Harry tore himself away from the whirling instruments and presented himself to Snape. The older man handed him his wand. When Harry took it into his hand, he felt a tingling all the way up his arm, and he stared down at it.

Snape placed a piece of parchment into the hearth and instructed Harry, "I want you to burn it. Point your wand at it and say, '_Incendio_'."

Clearly hesitant, Harry looked first at Snape, then at Minerva. "Go ahead, Harry," Minerva encouraged. "Give it a try."

"_I– incednio_," Harry stuttered out. Nothing happened.

"No, Harry," Snape correctly gently. "Not _incednio_. _Incendio_."

"Sorry," Harry said, becoming distraught, hanging his head. Maybe if he couldn't do this, he'd have to leave here, leave this place and the kind people who cared for him and expected nothing of him in return.

"Don't be sorry," Snape said kindly. "Just try it again. Say it like you mean it."

Because he _was_ Harry Potter, and he _wasn't_ a coward, Harry gathered his courage, took a deep breath, pointed his wand at the unoffending parchment, and cried, "_Incendio_!"

And the parchment spontaneously combusted. Eyes wide with surprise and awe, Harry looked up at Snape. "I did it!" he whispered.

"Well done," Snape said, surprising everyone in the room with the note of pride in his voice.

"He's got his magic," Minerva noted happily.

"Your wand," Snape said, holding out his hand.

Visibly reluctant, Harry handed it over. "Can't I keep it?"

"We will schedule some time every day for you to use it. But no, you cannot carry it with you." A nine-year old with a wand was a recipe for disaster.

"We will begin researching tomorrow, Minerva," Snape said. "With any luck, we'll have a solution soon."

##########

"Is there any sense in my putting you to bed in your own room?" Snape asked.

Harry smiled impishly up at him but didn't answer the question.

Snape sighed. "Fine," he said. "You may sleep in my bed. I will be in later."

"Night," Harry said with a happy smile, and he turned and ran down the hallway.

"Slow down," Snape admonished. He briefly considered sleeping in the boy's bed himself, but he discarded that idea quickly, certain the boy would find him at some point and they'd end up sleeping in the much narrower bed. As long as he was able to resist this weird attraction he felt for the boy, there wouldn't be any danger to letting him share the bed.

##########

The end of July was only two days away, and they'd made no progress in their research into Harry's curse. Hogwarts' library was extensive. They'd started in the Restricted Section, figuring the spell that had affected Harry wasn't something that would be found in the books available to first years. Each morning, Snape started with the next section of books, selected those most likely to be helpful and stacked them on the table. During the first week, Minerva assisted him when she had free time, but then she left for her conference. Fortunately, Snape was able to help Hermione with her parents, and when Minerva left, Granger took over assisting with the research. While they were confined in the library, Ron entertained Harry. The two of them went flying, swimming in the lake, exploring in the castle. Ron liked the feeling of having a little brother, and their friendship took on a new depth.

##########

July 31 greeted Harry's birthday with rain. Ron and Hermione arrived early with a birthday present and a cake. Harry pouted when told he couldn't eat it for breakfast, but he was easily distracted by the gift.

Harry sat in the sitting room with his present on his lap, staring down at it in wonder. "No one's ever given me a present. Well, except for Bunny. Maggie gave me Bunny. But he wasn't wrapped."

Ron and Hermione exchanged sad glances, reminded of the eleven-year old Harry they'd met their first year at Hogwarts. "Go ahead and open it, Harry," Hermione urged.

Harry did, reverently lifting the paper from the box. Inside he found a book. He lifted it out and turned it over. _Dragons of Europe._

"Look inside," Ron urged.

Harry opened to a random page and gasped at the moving images of glorious dragons in flight, dragons stalking prey, dragons sleeping, dragons mating. He tentatively reached a finger to touch a photo, almost convinced that his finger would go through the page and into the photo itself. He met solid paper, though, and traced the image of the lightly-snoring dragon. The dragon snorted and lifted its head, looking around sleepily to see who had disturbed it.

"Do you like it?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked up at them, his eyes glowing. "I _love_ it!"

"What do you say to Ron and Hermione, Harry?" Snape prodded.

"Thank you!" Harry launched himself off the chair and dropped to his knees between his two best friends, putting an arm around each and pulling them into a tight embrace.

Near tears, Hermione stroked Harry's hair tenderly and met Ron's eyes over the top of the messy head. Ron reached up and touched Hermione's cheek, smiling encouragingly.

Watching from across the room, Snape had to swallow hard to dislodge the lump in his throat. He'd known that Harry and his friends were close, but he hadn't suspected the depth of their attachment. It was like they were three parts of the same whole.

The three friends stayed embracing until Harry's youthful exuberance reasserted itself and he pulled away. "Can we go flying today?"

"Sorry, Mate. S'raining," Ron said, ruffling Harry's hair.

"So! It's only rain," Harry argued. "Please, please, please, Ron."

"Not today," Ron said firmly. "We'll find something to do inside today."

Harry stomped his foot. "I want to go flying!"

Ron and Hermione stared at Harry, then looked over at Severus. They'd never seen Harry act the petulant child.

Snape interceded. "Harry, I hear an owl. Why don't you go let it in?" Harry loved feeding the post owls.

His miff immediately forgotten, Harry suddenly smiled. "Okay," he said, and he bounded out of the room.

"What was _that_?" Ron asked.

"He didn't sleep well last night," Snape explained. "Nightmares." He'd kept Snape awake last night, tossing and turning and muttering in his sleep. "I suspect the curse is about to reassert itself. It _is_ the end of the month."

"I'd forgotten," Hermione admitted.

"I expect he'll have a headache similar to the one he had previously at some point today. I would not have let him fly today in any event, for that reason. Once that happens, we'll call Madam Pomfrey down to confirm he's lost another year."

Harry entered the room now, his eyes glued to the newspaper in his hands.

"Harry?" Ron asked. "Everything all right?"

Harry looked up at them. "I'm in the newspaper. Right on the front page." He turned the _Prophet_ around and showed them. Sure enough, a photo of Harry dominated the page, under a caption which read, "THE CHOSEN ONE – WHERE IS HE NOW?" The Harry in the photo grimaced at the camera, then turned to look to his right.

Damn! Snape should have realized the _Prophet_ would do a story on Harry's disappearance on his birthday and taken pains to keep it from the boy. He crossed the room and took the paper from Harry's trembling hands. "It's all right, Harry. Don't worry about this. There is another present in your room that I think you and Mr. Weasley might enjoy. Why don't you take him in there and see?"

##########

Harry and Ron accompanied Snape and Hermione to the library. Harry read from his new dragon book and Ron chose a quidditch book from the shelf while Snape and Hermione poured through dusty tome after dusty tome.

Until Harry clutched his head and groaned in pain.

Snape moved quickly, giving Harry the headache potion he'd kept on his person all day. Once Harry had swallowed it, they escorted him back to the dungeon. Snape settled Harry on the sofa with Bunny and a blanket, then made him drink a calming draught. Within seconds, Harry was asleep. Later that afternoon, Poppy confirmed that Harry was indeed functioning at the mental age of an eight-year old.

##########

Snape threw down the latest book he'd been searching through and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "This is useless!" he said to Hermione. "There isn't anything dark enough here."

"Is there some other place we could be looking?"

"Albus had a small collection of books on the Dark Arts. I've checked it thoroughly. You may look through it as well, if you'd like."

"No. I trust you were thorough."

Suddenly, Snape slapped a palm against his forehead. "How could I have been so stupid?!"

"What's wrong?"

"The Malfoy library! The most extensive collection of Dark Arts books ever known. If we could access that . . ."

"Do you think we'll find the answer there?" Hermione asked, feeling her hopes lifting.

"We're more likely to find it there than here," Snape conceded.

"What became of the library?" Hermione asked. "The Malfoy fortune was confiscated by the Ministry, the Manor taken and sold. Do you know what became of the contents?"

"I don't. But Minerva will know or can find out. I will speak with her now."

"I'll stay here and keep looking," Hermione aid, mindful of the date and not willing to leave any stone unturned. "I may get lucky."

##########

Severus returned to the library to find Hermione's nose still stuck in a book. She looked up when Snape approached. "Did she know?"

"No, but she's going to find out." Snape sat down opposite the girl. "She told me that you plan to delay beginning at university."

Hermione closed yet another useless book. "Yes. I've been accepted, but I've asked them to defer my admission. I've got to be here, helping you find something to help Harry."

Damn noble Gryffindors. "Do you think Potter would want you to put your life on hold, again, for his sake? Has Mr. Weasley not been accepted into the Auror program?"

"Yes."

"They will not defer his training," Snape pointed out. "He will either enter the program when they tell him, or he will lose his place. Harry wouldn't want that any more than he'd want you not to go to university as you had planned."

"But Harry is . . ."

"Going to turn seven today. We cannot stop this. If there is a solution to be found, it will be amongst the Malfoy library. If it is not there, we will likely not find it in time."

At Hermione's noise of protest, Snape continued with his typical brutal honesty. "We knew this was a possibility, that we could not cure him. None of us will quit until he is beyond our help, but we must acknowledge that we have a finite period of time to find an obscure curse that may never have been written down. It is, indeed, like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack."

"All the more reason for me to be _here_, helping you!" Hermione pointed out.

"The Malfoy library is also finite. Minerva and Poppy will continue to assist. You will assist when you are able. We will get through it in the time he has left," Snape said with more confidence than he felt.

"But you begin teaching tomorrow. Surely you can't devote the time necessary for this?"

"I will be on sabbatical until this is over. Minerva has already made arrangements for Gideon Blackstone to take over potions."

"So you're sacrificing your job, but I'm not allowed to sacrifice my education?" Hermione challenged angrily.

"I am at the end of my life, Miss Granger." Hermione snorted in disagreement with that statement, but Snape ignored her. "You are just beginning yours. Besides, I am the one who owes a debt to the Potters. This is my penance."

"You paid that debt at least twice over already, Professor. Harry knew that . . . before."

"Be that as it may, we are basically at a standstill until we gain access to the Malfoy collection. You may as well do what you can in the meantime to live your own life to the fullest. If Harry were here, the _real_ Harry, he would tell you so."

Hermione bowed her head, defeated. "You must owl me when you have the Malfoy library. I will do whatever I can."

"I know you will. Shall we go down and see how the boys are faring?"

Hermione smiled. Ron and Harry together were like two overgrown juvenile delinquents. They'd stayed in Severus' quarters today, anticipating the headache that would incapacitate Harry. Ron had been given the potions required to treat him, and while Snape had faith that Weasley could administer two simple potions, he was reluctant to be so far away, in case the boy should need him.

They met Poppy in the dungeon corridor. She'd been summoned by Ron after Harry's episode. They all went in, and Poppy confirmed that Harry was now seven.

##########

September expired while the Ministry twiddled its thumbs, alternately ignoring and considering Headmistress McGonagall's request that she be allowed access to the Malfoy library.

"We must tell them, Severus," Minerva said finally. "We must tell them _why_ we need access to the library."

"No. It is too dangerous."

"If we don't tell them, they will relegate our request to the dust bin. We can't afford to lose any more time. We must tell them _why_ we need that particular library. Once they know, they will be only too willing to give us what we need."

"Once they know," Snape argued, "it will become common knowledge that Potter is here and that he cannot defend himself. You would pit a six-year old against those Death Eaters who escaped justice and would like nothing better than to avenge themselves on the boy for killing their master?"

"And if we don't tell them, and we can't find an answer to this problem, in six months, Harry Potter will die," Minerva countered. "We can protect him here. This is our only hope!"

"Set up a meeting with the Minister," Snape conceded. "Stress to him the importance of keeping this a secret. Not that I expect the news won't be all over the Ministry within one day of your telling him," Snape said bitterly.

"Harry!" Snape barked. "Come! We're going home!"

Harry looked up from where he was sitting on the floor playing with some of Dumbledore's less harmful trinkets. "Okay. Can we have spaghetti for lunch?"

Snape stepped to the hearth and grabbed a handful of floo powder. Harry stepped up beside him and slid his warm hand into Snape's.

Snape stared down at the boy, emotion choking his throat. His affection for this boy had grown with every week they'd been together, and the thought of putting Harry's fate into the hands of the incompetent Ministry of Magic twisted his insides. The boy was so sweet and vulnerable and was absolutely no match for the evil men and women who would like to see him dead. Grasping Harry's hand tightly, he flung the floo powder down, growled, "Snape's quarters," and pulled the boy into the floo.

When they stepped into Snape's sitting room, he ruffled Harry's hair. "I will speak with the elves about lunch. Go wash up, little monkey."

##########

"Now, Minerva," said Minister Gerhard. "What is this all about? Is all this cloak and dagger really necessary?"

"Yes, Minister. I'm afraid it is. Please sit," she invited.

Severus Snape joined them, coming through a door behind Minerva's desk.

"Severus," the Minister acknowledged him with a nod.

"Minister," Snape said coolly as he seated himself and waited for the others to follow suit.

"Minister, I wish to speak with you concerning a recent request I have made to view the contents of the Malfoy library," Minerva informed him.

"Oh, Minerva! Not that again!" The Minister was clearly perturbed by this colossal waste of his time. "I was led to believe that your request for an audience this morning, _here_ I might add, was of critical importance. As I've told you repeatedly, and as I believe members of my staff have told you repeatedly, your request will be handled through the proper channels . . ."

"But it's _not_ being handled, Minister," Minerva protested. "It's been well over a month."

"It will take as long as it takes," Hodge said. "Now if you will excuse me," he said, rising from his chair. "I have more important things to occupy my time this morning."

"More important than Harry Potter?" Minerva asked, cocking an eyebrow at the man.

Hodge dropped back into his chair, stunned. "What has this to do with Potter?"

"We have found him," the Headmistress informed him.

"What? He's alive?!"

"He is. He was struck by a curse during the final battle, perhaps at the exact moment he killed Voldemort. The curse caused him to become confused and obliterated his memories. As best we can determine, he wandered away from the battle in the confusion, and was found somewhere by a man named Stephen. This Stephen was most likely a Muggle, as he apparently did not recognize Harry. After perhaps two months, this man was passing through an outlying village and . . . left Harry with a local who owned a pub there. Harry apparently . . . worked there until Severus happened to stumble upon him during an herb-gathering expedition."

"He's alive, but he has no memory?" Hodge asked, incredulous. "But why didn't he return to us?"

Snape rolled his eyes. If the boy had no memory, how could he know _where to return to_? It was only his iron self-control that kept him from pointing out just how much of an idiot this man was. They needed his help.

"As I mentioned," Minerva said slowly, as though she also realized she was speaking with someone of very limited intelligence, "his memory was obliterated. There also appears to be some type of de-aging component to the curse. He has not been affected physically, but his mind has regressed. Poppy has confirmed that he currently has the mental age of a six-year old. When Severus found him, he was operating at the level of a ten-year old."

"And how long have you had him here?" Hodge demanded, angry that they'd apparently kept the fact of Harry Potter's return from him for any length of time. He was the Minister! He had a right to know these things! "I assume that Mr. Potter _is_ here?"

"Yes, he is here. He was recovered at the end of June," Snape said.

"The end of . . . But it's now . . . You've kept this to yourselves for three months?! The world deserved to know he was alive! You had no right!"

"He is not able to defend himself, Minister," Minerva explained. "The fewer who knew, the safer he was. We have been attempting to identify the curse used and end its effects. So far we have had no luck, and now we need your help. We've searched the Hogwarts library and have found nothing about this curse. This is, frankly, not surprising as it obviously is a very dark bit of magic. We need access to the Malfoy library – that collection of Dark Arts books is legendary, and it is likely to be of assistance to us in our research."

"Of course. Of course, if it will benefit Harry, I will see that you have access today. How long do you think he has . . .?"

Minerva looked at Severus, who said, "At the rate of progression we've observed, I would estimate he has six months."

"Then we'll get started immediately," Hodge said, and they could see the wheels turning in his brain, calculating when best to make the announcement, how to most effectively use this stunning piece of good news to help himself. "The entire might of the Ministry is at your disposal."

And that is exactly what Snape had feared. "You must tell no one," Snape warned. "If word gets out, the boy's life won't be worth a knut."

Hodge looked appalled. Keep something _this _good to himself. "May I see the boy?"

Severus glared at the Minister, who had sidestepped Snape's edict. He wanted to refuse the odious man, but he knew they had little choice. "Harry, would you come out here, please?"

Harry had been told to stay in the room behind the Headmistress's office, and he had done so. At Snape's directive, he left this room and joined the others. He stared curiously at the stranger sitting beside Snape.

"Harry, this is Gerhard Hodge. He is the Minister of Magic," Minerva said.

"Hello," Harry said politely.

"Harry! How are you, my boy?!" Hodge asked heartily.

Harry glanced nervously at Snape. He wasn't this man's boy – was he? Was this another man from his past? Someone he should know? Someone who was going to take him away from here and make him do things that made him feel bad inside? Tears came quickly to his eyes, and he edged closer to Snape until he could hide behind the man's voluminous robes. "Don't let him take me away," he whispered, looking up at Snape with pleading eyes.

"No one is taking you anywhere, Harry," Snape assured the trembling boy, putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling Harry close. Harry hid his face in Snape's robes.

"Do you see, Minister?" Minerva asked quietly. "It is imperative that we keep the fact that Harry is alive a secret until we can cure him and he regains his faculties."

Hodge stared at the quivering boy burrowing himself into Snape's robes. "Yes, I see. This is not the Harry we all know." He cleared his throat. "When would you like to view the library?"

"It would be most helpful, Minister," Minerva said, "if the library could be brought here. We will be working around the clock, and having the collection here will be most helpful."

"You'll need some serious warding. Some of those books are positively leaking Dark Magic," Hodge warned.

"I am familiar with the type of wards required," Snape assured him as he rubbed soothing circles into Harry's back.

"I suspect you are," the Minister countered. "I shall have it delivered this afternoon." Staring worriedly at Harry, the Minister took his leave.

"It's all right, Harry," Snape said. "He's gone."

Harry peeked out, then stepped away from his guardian. "Sir, I don't like that man."

"That, Harry," Snape said, tapping Harry on the end of the nose with a finger, "just goes to show what a good judge of character you are."

##########

It took Snape a week to ward an appropriately large empty dungeon classroom and sort the Malfoy books into some semblance of order according to subject matter and what looked promising, what looked like it would yield nothing helpful, and those books with an unidentified subject matter. The latter two categories would be kept close to hand in the event the others proved fruitless.

Because Snape did not want to expose Harry to the almost palpable Dark Magic emanating from this collection, Hermione took an indefinite leave from university, moved into the dungeon, and stayed with Harry during the day. After dinner with the boy, Snape and Hermione returned to the research for a couple of hours while Ron sat with Harry and put him to bed. Poppy replaced Snape at ten, and she and Hermione worked until midnight, when Minerva took over until three. At that time, Snape returned, having rested as much as possible, hating the fact that he had to trust others to this very important task. He'd never get through it all himself, he knew, not in the time they had left. Under other circumstances, he would have thoroughly enjoyed making his way through the fascinating collection at a pace leisurely enough to actually gain knowledge from the texts, but a careful perusal just now was not possible.

##########

One week to the day, as Snape had known it would sooner or later, word of Harry's existence leaked from the Ministry directly to the _Daily Prophet_.

BOY WHO LIVED LIVES STILL! the headline proclaimed, followed by a story that summarized the details as Minerva had relayed them to the Minister. Snape wasvery glad they had decided to withhold details concerning Harry's time at the pub, as those would surely be splayed before the world in all their horrifying glory as well.

"Fuck!" Snape swore when he saw the headline.

Harry drew in a quick breath and covered his mouth with his hand. "Sir said a bad word!" He giggled, and his eyes sparkled merrily.

"You must be mistaken, Mr. Potter," Snape said innocently.

"I heard you, you sillyhead!"

Snape stared down at the imp. "Did you just call me a sillyhead?" he asked sternly.

Harry was _so_ not afraid of his Sir. "Yup!" he said with a mischievous grin.

"Do you know what happens to me when someone calls me a sillyhead?"

"No," Harry admitted, bouncing in his excitement to find out.

Snape twitched his robe, making it billow ominously. "I turn into a . . . TICKLE MONSTER!" he bellowed, and he wiggled his fingers and lunged at the boy.

Harry made a noise that was half-shriek, half-laugh and turned tail and raced to the bedroom, Snape close behind but letting Harry keep just out of his reach. Harry leapt onto the bed, laughing uncontrollably and curling into a tight ball to keep himself safe from the dreaded Tickle Monster.

Snape looked down at the boy. He hadn't laid one finger on one rib, yet the boy was a shrieking mass of hysterical squirming giggles. He couldn't help but smile, but then quickly felt like crying. The world now knew that Harry was alive and that he was vulnerable and even where he was. A target had been painted squarely on the boy's back again. A six-year old boy, defenseless and vulnerable. How long could they keep him safe now?

Snape sat on the edge of the bed, fighting his emotions – worry over Harry's safety, anxiety over finding the answer in the time they had left, anger over the bungling Minister who couldn't keep the most important of secrets.

Still giggling and aware of none of this turmoil, Harry rolled himself over and rested his head in Snape's lap. "I love you, sir," he said, smiling up at his guardian.

Snape smoothed the hair back from Harry's forehead, placing his thumb gently on the scar that still shown there. He looked down into those guileless green eyes and said something he never thought he'd say to anyone, let alone Harry Potter. "I love you, too."

And suddenly he had to get up and go into the loo because he had something in his eye.

##########

Snape settled back at the table with a cup of tea and the newspaper. He had no sooner finished completely reading the _Prophet_ article when Hermione's head appeared in his floo. "I came to warn you. Molly and Arthur are on the way."

Snape sighed in defeat. This was not unexpected. "You may as well come on through."

Hermione had no sooner stepped into the room when an insistent knocking sounded on the door.

"Perhaps you could let them in, Miss Granger?" Snape requested.

Hermione went to open the door. "Hermione!" Molly's voice sounded surprised. "What are _you _doing here? Where's Harry?"

"Come in, please," Hermione invited.

Snape rose to greet his guests. "Molly. Arthur."

"Severus," Arthur said in his usual jovially pleasant way.

"Where is he, Severus?" Molly asked, getting straight to the point.

"He is in his bedroom. But I must ask you to sit and listen to me before you see him." When Molly made as if to protest, Severus held up a hand. "Please. I must insist. Have a cup of tea. We will explain everything, and then you can see Harry."

"'We'?" Molly asked, sliding into a chair and staring accusingly at Hermione. "You've known all along and you haven't told us?"

Before Hermione could respond, the floo flared again, and Ron burst forth on the hearth. "Bloody hell! The Ministry's in an uproar today! Canceled training, they have, with the news about Harry. Oh – Mum. Dad. What are you doing here?" Ron's feigned look of innocence hadn't improved with age.

"Ronald Weasley!" Molly scolded. "You knew, too?! How could you not tell us?!"

"Mum! Well, I – "

"I swore them both to secrecy," Snape interrupted. He poured tea for Molly and Arthur, and invited Arthur to sit. "Mr. Weasley," he said, looking at Ron. "Would you make sure Harry's eating? I asked him to breakfast in his room this morning."

"Sure thing," Ron agreed, more than glad to get out from under his mother's accusatory glare.

Once Ron was gone, Snape started to talk, and he didn't stop until he had explained everything – how he'd found Harry, what they suspected about the curse, their on-going research, Harry's current condition. When he'd answered every question the Weasleys (mostly Molly) had, he stood up.

"I'll get Harry."

Ron and Harry were laying on the floor of Harry's room, a checkerboard between them. Harry looked up. "I'm beating Ron!"

"Excellent. There are some people here who would like to see you."

Snape and Ron both saw the look of uncertainty and fear cross Harry's face. Even after all this time, he couldn't shake the fear that someone was going to take him away or force him to do something awful.

"It's okay, mate," Ron assured him softly. "It's my mum and dad. They knew you before. Kind of thought of you as one of their own kids."

"Like I was your brother?" Harry asked, scrunching his nose in thought, sounding as though he liked the sound of that idea.

"Yes," Ron said with a warm smile. "I should warn you – Mum'll want to hug you. Big hugger, she is. Might not be able to help herself. But if you say the word, I'll tell her not to."

Harry sat up and sat cross-legged, looking worriedly at Ron. "Is she a nice lady?"

"Well, I certainly think so."

"Sir?" Harry asked, looking up at Snape.

"She's very nice," Snape affirmed.

"I guess it would be all right if she hugged me. Hermione hugs me sometimes. I like _that_."

"Well, Mum would love a hug, but if it makes you uncomfortable, then we'll tell her – NO hugging."

Harry scrambled to his feet. "I don't mind."

"Coming, Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked Ron.

"Think I'll stay here," Ron offered, rolling onto his back and clasping his hands behind his head.

Snape snorted. "Coward," he taunted.

"Smart," Ron countered. "And I was letting him beat me, by the way."

Nervous, Harry slipped his hand into Snape's, and the two of them left the room.

"Harry," Molly said when they entered the room.

Harry stared at Molly. Something about her called to him on a visceral level. He knew her, somewhere in time, somewhere inside himself. He didn't remember her name, and he couldn't recall ever having seen her face, but she represented comfort and love and safety and home. Without stopping to think about it, Harry launched himself at her. She opened her arms to accept him, his momentum knocking her backward until Arthur steadied them.

"Oh, Harry," Molly muttered into his hair. "We're so glad you're home."

As they clung to each other, Arthur put an arm around both of them and surrounded them with his strength.

Hermione smiled happily at the reunion until she noticed the sadness on Snape's face as he watched the three of them and the unexpected way Harry had reacted to Molly. She could almost feel the rejection Snape apparently was experiencing, and she felt sadness for him. He'd been taking care of Harry for weeks, months, and the bond between the two was deep and strong. Snape obviously thought he was losing Harry.

Molly pushed Harry away so that she could take a good look at him. "How are you?"

"Good," Harry said shyly, looking at his trainers as he scuffed the carpet.

He looked good, Molly thought. Well-fed. Well-cared for. She looked up at Snape. "Thank you. For taking care of him. But we'll take him now."

"What?" Harry asked, instantly alarmed, looking frantically at everyone in the room. His panicked gaze landed last on Snape, and he ran to embrace the man. "Sir?" he said, looking up at Snape pleadingly. "I don't want to go. Please, sir."

"It's all right, Harry," Snape said, pulling him close, a look of relief on his features that only Hermione caught. "You're not going anywhere." He looked up at Molly. "He's . . . attached. He's also likely safer here. But we do need you. If you would be willing to spend the days here with Harry, that will free Miss Granger up to return to university."

"Of course I will," Molly said, willing to do anything to help Harry.

"Professor," Hermione said firmly. "I'll not argue with you about this again. I am NOT returning to school until Harry is cured."

Snape smiled thinly at Hermione. He'd been hoping she'd feel that way. They still had so much to do. "Ten points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger."

##########

"No," Severus said firmly. "No. They can't really expect . . . I cannot believe they would even ask."

"I told the Minister that. I felt safe speaking for you on this." Minerva pursed her lips in disapproval. "They really are all the same, aren't they? They think only about how something _looks_ and how it will help them win votes. He's given no thought as to what this would do to Harry or the danger it would place him in."

The Ministry had requested Harry's presence at its official belated celebration of the defeat of Voldemort. The public, aware now of Harry's existence, was clamoring for sight of him, and the Ministry, in its all-seeing wisdom, thought that having Harry visible and active at the festivities would be perfect.

"A speech!" Severus spat. "They want a six-year old to give a speech! In front of thousands of screaming idiots! Just when you think the world has gone insane and can no longer surprise you, the Ministry sinks to a new level of stupidity."

"Shall I write the refusal, or would you like that privilege?"

"Do you want it tactfully worded or blunt in its assessment of the originator?" Severus asked.

"I shall take care of it right now," Minerva hastily offered.

##########

"Miss Weasley," Snape said, surprised to find her lurking outside his door.

"Professor Snape," she said, pushing herself away from the wall.

"Was there something you needed?"

"I wanted to ask you about Harry, sir."

"Surely you are kept apprised of his condition by your mother."

"Yes, sir. It's not that. I wanted to ask you if I could take him to quidditch practice. Gryffindor has practice on Saturday, and I was hoping . . ."

"I'm afraid that would be impossible," Snape said.

"We'd take good care of him, Professor," Ginny argued.

"How could you possibly plan for every possible way that former Death Eaters might concoct to harm Harry out in the open like that?" Snape challenged.

"But how could Death Eaters even get onto school grounds, Professor? All of Gryffindor House will be there. He's one of us. We'd never let anything happen to him. We'll have people in the air and on the ground. I can have Ron come, too. He'll be perfectly safe, and he'd probably love to have a little time outside. He always loved the outdoors."

Snape sagged against the wall and closed his eyes tiredly. First another day of fruitless research, then an idiotic request from the Ministry, now this.

"Maybe I could come inside and see Harry. Let's ask him if he'd _like _to go."

Snape opened one eye and stared at her. "Is this a shameless ploy to get in to see Harry?"

"No!" Ginny said immediately. "Well, I _would_ love to see Harry, of course, but I genuinely want to do this for him. We've talked it over in the Common Room, and every last one of us will be there."

Snape sighed. Every part of him wanted to say no, but was he being fair to Harry? The boy did love the outdoors and had been confined to the dungeons for weeks. Would a couple of hours in the fresh air and sunshine, surrounded by a hundred noble Gryffindors on the warded-to-the-teeth Hogwarts grounds, be remiss?

"He must not fly alone, Miss Weasley. In his mind, he is a child, with the judgment of a six-year old." And for emphasis, Severus added, "He cannot tie his own shoes!"

Ginny smiled, sensing a "yes" in the offing. "Of course not, sir. Perhaps he could go up for a little while with Troy Morrison?" Morrison was a solid wall of a boy, outweighing Harry by a good fifty pounds. "With an appropriately reinforced broom, of course."

"Of course," Snape agreed dryly.

"So do you think he'd like to come?"

"Why don't you come inside and ask him yourself?"

Ginny leapt up in her excitement. She hadn't seen Harry since his return. "Thank you, Professor!"

"I must ask you not to rush at him. He is easily overwhelmed."

Snape opened the door to his quarters and went in, followed by an eager Ginny. He expected to see Harry playing or reading, but instead found the boy cradled in Molly's arms in the rocking chair she'd modified to contain both of them. Harry's eyes were closed and his cheeks were flushed as he rested his head against Molly's substantial bosom.

"What is wrong?" Snape asked.

"Our boy has the flu, Severus," Molly said quietly. "Ginny!" she added, surprised to see her daughter behind Snape.

"Hello, Mum."

"Have you called Poppy?" Snape asked, crossing swiftly to the boy and laying a hand on his sweaty brow. "He's burning up!"

"Poppy has already been. She's dosed him once already. The fever come and goes." Molly rocked, petting Harry's head soothingly, unconcerned.

"Why didn't you summon me?" Snape asked, dropping to his knees beside Harry. "When did this start? He was fine this morning!"

"There was no need to summon you, Severus. He began feeling unwell just after lunch. Poppy said there's lots of it going around the school just now. He'll be fine. Children get sick all the time."

Snape's children had never gotten sick, and he couldn't help but worry. "She's convinced it's just a standard case of the flu?"

"Yes, Severus. Don't worry. He'll be fine in a day. Two at the most. Ginny, dear, what are you doing here? Did you need me for something?"

Ginny seemed unable to take her eyes away from the sight of Snape, on his knees beside a feverish Harry Potter, obviously worried almost to the point of distraction about a simple case of childhood flu.

"Your plans will have to wait until Harry is feeling better, I'm afraid," Snape said before Ginny could pull together an answer to her mother's question.

Ginny nodded. "Of course, Professor."

"Sir?" a weak voice called.

"I'm here, Harry," Snape said immediately, taking Harry's hand into his own. "How do you feel?"

"Hot," the boy complained.

Snape summoned a cool flannel from the loo and placed it gently across the boy's forehead. Harry sighed happily. "Sir," he said, twisting his body and extending his arms out toward Snape.

"He wants _you_, Severus," Molly said. "I've tried putting him down several times, but he wants to be held." She levitated Harry up off her lap. "Here, you take him."

"But . . ." Snape protested. He'd never rocked a child, let alone one Harry's size. "I've never . . ."

"Nonsense," Molly dismissed his concerns. "It's what he needs right now."

Molly stood up and Snape positioned himself in the space she had vacated. When she lowered the boy into his arms, Snape was surprised by the way he seemed to fit there. As soon as Harry settled, Snape could feel the fever waves of heat rolling off his body.

"Sir," Harry muttered sleepily, turning his face into Snape's robes. He settled himself more comfortably in Snape's lap and fell back to sleep.

"I'll have the house elf bring you up some sandwiches," Molly told Severus, affectionately pushing Harry's hair back off his forehead. "And Poppy said she'd be back at seven to check on him. Will you be all right with him?"

"Of course," Snape said with more confidence than he felt.

Molly left, towing her daughter behind her. After they'd gone, Snape stared down at the feverish child in his lap. He lifted the cool flannel and replaced it when he discovered it was doing its job. Slowly, tentatively, he began to rock, holding the boy tighter against himself. He dropped a kiss on the sweaty brow, charmed a potions journal to hover in front of him so he could read, and settled back to wait for his supper.

##########

Snape missed two days of research while Harry fought off the flu. Molly came each morning, but Snape found himself unable to deny Harry when he cried sickly tears and asked him not to go. They spent much of the two days in the rocking chair, and Snape came to cherish the closeness that developed there.

But, as predicted, Harry was completely recovered two days later, and Snape saw no reason not to allow him to attend Gryffindor's quidditch practice on Saturday.

##########

Because he'd missed two days of pounding the books during Harry's illness, Snape took advantage of the boy's absence to seclude himself in the library of dark material they'd collected. He was thus engaged when a horse patronus burst through the door and Ginny Weasley's voice spoke to him. "Lucius Malfoy is here."

"Harry," Snape said, and before the echo of the second syllable had died away, Snape was gone from the room.

_Continued in part 2, coming soon . . . _


	2. Chapter 2

Forever Young, Part 2

by Warviben

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these awesome characters. I'm quite sure you know who does.

**Summary: **Harry Potter goes missing during the final battle. Snape finds him in a most undesirable place.

**Warnings: **Part 2 of this story will contain a detailed description of a sexual act between two men. If this disturbs you in any way, I would suggest that you read no further.

##########

_From Part 1:_

_Because he'd missed two days of pounding the books during Harry's illness, Snape took advantage of the boy's absence to seclude himself in the library of dark material they'd collected. He was thus engaged when a horse patronus burst through the door and Ginny Weasley's voice spoke to him. "Lucius Malfoy is here."_

_"Harry," Snape said, and before the echo of the second syllable had died away, Snape was gone from the room._

##########

Snape approached the quidditch pitch at a run, but slowed when he took in what was happening there. Lucius Malfoy, imperious as ever, stood surrounded by a circle of ten or so upper-level Gryffindors, all with their wands pointed at him. Scores of other Gryffindors formed a crowd nearby. Each had their wand out and ready, though none of them was actively pointed at Malfoy. Lucius appeared to be trying to talk his way out of the situation he was in. Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Snape had himself collected by the time he arrived at the ever-growing group just outside the quidditch gates.

"Oh, Severus! Thank Merlin you are here!" Lucius breathed, a patently false smile on his regal face. "These . . ." he looked around distastefully, "students seem to think they have the authority to keep a school governor away from the quidditch pitch. If you would please ask them to lower their wands."

How Lucius Malfoy had retained his position on the school Board of Governors was somewhat of a mystery, though Snape was certainly familiar with the Malfoy family's ability to slither their way out of almost anything. Their ancestral home, most of the contents of their Gringott's vault, their fine collection of wizarding antiques and artwork (and, of course, their Dark Arts library) – all had been confiscated by the Ministry, an attempt at "punishment" for the family that had stood beside the Dark Lord for many a year and committed how many unknown atrocities in his name. But none of them had been sent to Azkaban for even a moment, and they had somehow maintained their reputation as one of the more respected pureblood families in the wizarding world.

Snape looked appraisingly at the circle of students. "You have done well," he told them. "Lower your wands, but keep them handy. Lucius, what are you doing here?"

"Well!" he spluttered indignantly. "I _am _still on this school's Board of Governors! As such, I have every right . . ."

"Yes, yes," Snape interrupted. "But what are you _doing_ here? You heard Harry was going to be out here today, didn't you?"

Lucius smirked. "'Harry', Severus?"

Snape took a menacing step closer to Malfoy. "You will _not_ harm him in any way."

Lucius closed the distance between them more. "My, my," he murmured. "Protective, are we? Found yourself a little plaything, have you, Severus?"

Before Snape could respond, a shrill voice called, "You will not hurt my sir!" and before anyone could react, a small, compact body burst through the circle and tackled Lucius Malfoy to the ground. It was a move that many a rugby player would have admired.

Snape knew that Lucius had his wand, and it was imperative that he get Harry off of Malfoy before the man had a chance to use it. Reaching into the flying arms and legs (Harry's), Snape placed one hand on the back of Harry's jumper and the other on the waistband of Harry's jeans and lifted the boy up and off. As he pulled him away, Snape was satisfied to note that Harry had connected with at least one punch. Blood was gushing from Malfoy's nose.

Still writhing and punching and kicking at the air, holding onto Harry was like trying to control a combative mountain lion. Trusting that the Gryffindors had his back, Snape carried Harry a few steps away and set him on his feet, but didn't let him go. "Harry!" he said sternly. "Harry! Calm down!"

Harry turned in Snape's arms and buried his face in Snape's robes. "He was gonna hurt you!" Harry sobbed.

Snape held Harry close and stroked his hair soothingly. "It's all right, my brave boy," he murmured. "He can't hurt anyone now. I'm fine."

No one offered Malfoy assistance off the ground, so he got himself up, dusted off his clothes, and gingerly felt his swollen nose. Still, several wands pointed in his general direction as he watched Snape and the boy embracing.

"What is going on here?" Minerva McGonagall huffed as she walked briskly toward them.

"This . . . this boy," Malfoy proclaimed, gesturing at Harry, "assaulted me. They're all witnesses," he said, pointing a wide circle at the gathered students.

"Severus?" Minerva asked, surveying the blood on Malfoy's face. "What's happened here?"

"Harry thought I was being threatened. He acted to protect me."

"_Harry_ did this?"

Harry turned his face toward her but kept his tear-stained cheek pressed to Snape's chest. "He was gonna hurt my sir."

Minerva smiled fondly at Harry. "This appears to be a case of Harry defending Severus, Mr. Malfoy.

"I had no intention of harming Severus!" Malfoy protested. Not here, anyway. Not now, in front of all these witnesses.

"The boy clearly thought you were a threat. I concede he may have been mistaken. Morgan!" Minerva called to one of the older students in the group.

Said student stepped forward. "Yes, ma'am."

"Was there anything about Mr. Malfoy's behavior that someone in Harry's condition may have found menacing towards Professor Snape?"

Morgan scratched his chin, as though thinking over his recollection of events. "Mr. Malfoy took a step toward the Professor. I suppose that might have been seen as threatening."

"But he . . ." Malfoy protested.

Minerva spoke over him. "Is there anyone here who would dispute that Mr. Malfoy acted in what could be perceived from afar as a menacing manner toward Professor Snape?"

Predictably, no one spoke. Malfoy saw where this was headed and that he could not win. Not today. "Now, Headmistress, there's no need to blow things out of proportion. It was a simple misunderstanding." He reached a hand out toward Harry, as though to touch him in a conciliatory manner. Harry flinched, and Snape turned him away, putting more of himself between Malfoy and the boy. Malfoy glared at them both.

"I am glad to hear you say that, Mr. Malfoy," Minerva said. "Now let me escort you to the infirmary, and we'll have Madam Pomfrey take a look at you."

"I assure you, Minerva, I'm quite fine," Malfoy protested, but he let himself be led away.

"Come, my hero," Snape said into Harry's hair. "Let's go home." He looked at the still-assembled students, comprising, he thought, all of Gryffindor House, as had been promised. "Thank you," he told them. "You performed admirably. Were I an active member of the staff, I should award many points to Gryffindor House." He smirked at this. He knew and they knew he would no sooner award Gryffindor house points than he would kiss a hippogriff. And technically, he _could _award points, but his caring for Harry had already tattered his reputation, and he'd prefer for it not to be completely destroyed. He did, after all, have to resume teaching these impudent youngsters at some point. But they did deserve the points, and he would probably have awarded them were he not confident that Minerva would do so later. He turned Harry toward home and they began to walk.

##########

To Snape's surprise, Harry's constant stream of chatter that day centered not on their confrontation with Lucius Malfoy but on his time spent on the quidditch pitch. He'd been taken up on a broom by several of the older, larger students, and he wanted to describe every moment to Snape, who soon had to tune him out or go mad.

Harry's excitement did, however, drive home for Snape just how much the boy enjoyed being outside and physically active. He'd known this about Harry, even before, when he couldn't stand the sight of the boy. But the dangers of being outside, and the increased difficulty of keeping Harry safe there, versus in the confines of indoors, had also been made abundantly clear. Snape had no idea what Malfoy's intentions had been towards Harry, but it could not have been a coincidence that he showed up here today, at the quidditch pitch, as though he knew Harry would be there, which of course, Snape believed he did. He couldn't possibly believe that he'd be able to hurt Harry in such a public place and get away with it. Perhaps he just wanted to see the boy for himself, judge his condition, determine just how weak and vulnerable he was. Instead, what he got was a cross between a hellcat and a house elf, and Snape smiled at the memory of the protective little spitfire Harry had turned into. His smiled faded though when his thoughts returned to Malfoy. The man loathed Harry Potter, blamed him for his Lord's downfall, and Lucius' subsequent descent into near-poverty, suspicion and mistrust by the very Ministry he'd hoped to control. Snape knew Malfoy would strike out at the boy if given the chance, and he knew that if old friend Lucius had his way, he'd gladly take Snape the traitor out with him.

Predictably, although Harry didn't dwell on it in his waking hours, the conflict with Malfoy came through in his dreams, and the boy slept poorly that night. At one point, Snape had to wake him to keep him from thrashing himself onto the floor.

"It's all right, Harry. You're only dreaming."

Snape could feel the boy's heart beating a tattoo in his chest. He lay on his back staring up at the ceiling, and he didn't speak for a moment.

"Who was that man?" he finally asked.

"His name is Lucius Malfoy."

"Is he bad?"

"Yes, I'm afraid he is."

"What did he want?"

"I don't know. I never got to find out. Someone tackled him."

Harry rolled onto his side to face Snape. "Sorry. I thought he was gonna hurt you."

"You don't need to be sorry. You were very brave. Thank you."

Harry scooted closer, until he lay his head on Snape's chest. "I love you," he said simply, as though that explained everything. Snape supposed it did. He brought his arm around the sweet child and pulled him close in a brief hug.

"I love you, too, Harry. Now how about we get some more sleep?"

Harry obligingly snuggled further into Snape's heat, closed his eyes, and was asleep within moments. Snape lay awake a while longer, running fingers absently through Harry's tousled hair, pondering the problem of keeping Harry more physically active yet keeping him safe until he, too, returned to sleep.

##########

When Snape awoke the next morning, the solution was, figuratively speaking, staring him in the face. The Room of Requirement. Hagrid. He immediately sent an owl to the half giant asking him to meet them in the seventh floor corridor directly after lunch.

Snape had told Harry about Hagrid, but it hadn't quite prepared him for the sheer size of the man. Harry looked up and up and up until he arrived at Hagrid's bearded, smiling face. He grabbed Snape's hand in both of his and stepped behind Snape while he continued to peer in awe up at Hagrid.

"Harry," Snape said. "This is Hagrid. As I told you, he was your friend before."

"Hello, Harry," Hagrid said, beaming cheerfully down at the boy. "I've been wantin' ter see yeh since the Perfessor brung yeh home. How are yeh?"

"I . . . I'm fine," Harry said after Snape tugged on his hands to prompt him.

"Hagrid's going to spend some time with you today, Harry," Snape explained, "in a place I think you're going to really like. Wait here."

Snape pulled his hand out of Harry's grip. The boy pressed himself up against the wall, keeping a wary eye on the still-smiling giant as he watched his sir pace up and down the hall. Suddenly, a door appeared in the opposite wall, a door that Harry knew hadn't been there seconds ago.

"Ah," Snape said, pleased. "Shall we go in?"

Snape led the way. Harry looked at Hagrid, who gestured with one hand toward the door. "After yeh," he said.

Harry nearly skipped across the hall in his haste to get closer to Snape and further from Hagrid. As soon as he crossed into the room, though, he forgot about everyone in it. His mouth fell open as he looked around at what should have been walls, a floor, and a ceiling but was instead a large grassy meadow bisected by a shallow stream and ringed by trees that looked perfect for climbing.

"What do you think, Harry?" Snape asked.

"It's brilliant!" Harry breathed, eyes wide with wonder.

"Would you like to play here?"

Harry nodded.

"All right, then. I shall be right here," Snape said, indicating a park bench beside the door. He'd brought a book to read while Harry and Hagrid cavorted to their hearts' content.

"Can I go?" Harry asked, bouncing on his toes in his eagerness to be off.

"Go," Snape urged. "Oh, Harry. Your shoe is untied."

Harry went down on one knee, fiddled with the lace until he had two large loops that were in no way connected, and looked up at Snape. "How's that?"

"An admiral attempt," Snape assured him. "Perhaps I could just tighten it up a bit." He knelt next to Harry and, as surreptitiously as possible, tied the boy's laces. "There it is. Now go."

And Harry was off, racing across the meadow, heading straight for the stream.

"Thank yeh, Perfessor," Hargrid said, watching Harry run, his eyes glittering.

"Thank _you_, Hagrid. Harry needs this. He seems a little frightened of you, but he'll get over that quickly, I believe."

Hagrid smiled and ambled off after the boy.

Snape kept an eye on them over the top of his book. Hagrid approached the boy slowly. Harry had taken a quick look at the stream and then headed for the trees. When Hagrid offered to lift Harry up into the branches, the two were friends for life. Harry scampered around in the trees for a while, with Hagrid protectively hovering below him. Snape finally felt secure enough to actually read his book, contenting himself with a glance up every now and then to be sure Hagrid wasn't being reckless with the boy.

At one point, Harry came racing over. "Sir! Can I take my shoes off and go in the water?!"

Snape smiled at his enthusiasm. "Of course you can, imp."

"Yay!" Harry hooted, and he was off again.

Hagrid and Harry splashed happily in the stream, chasing each other. Snape startled at Harry's shriek of laughter when Hagrid slipped and fell into the stream, splashing Harry with a monsoon-sized wave that soaked the boy from his head to this already-wet toes.

"Sir!" Harry shouted around his laughter. "Hagrid fell in!"

"Yes, I believe I felt the splash all the way over here!" Snape exaggerated.

Now that they were both wet, there was no holding them back. Hagrid, on all fours and growling like a demoniacal bear, chased Harry up and down the stream, the boy shrieking with delighted, demented laughter. When they tired of that, they crawled out of the stream and lay panting on the grass, catching their breath.

After a few minutes, Hagrid got to his hands and knees and shook like a great dog, scattering drops of water in a huge arc around him. Harry sat up and laughed at the giant man, then launched himself up onto the giant's back. Hagrid began to prance around the meadow, slowly at first, Harry sitting up proudly and "riding" his "steed" about the meadow. Then Hagrid picked up speed and began trying to "buck" his rider off. Harry squealed and grabbed great handfuls of Hagrid's bushy hair, which didn't seem to bother the big man at all, in an attempt to stay seated. When Hagrid finally managed to topple Harry, Snape noted with approval that the man always made sure to cushion Harry's fall. Time after time, Hagrid dislodged his rider, only to have Harry climb back on and demand to go again. Tirelessly, Hagrid acceded every time.

Snape set his book aside and watched the two of them for a moment. It was time to be the bad guy.

He approached them just as Hagrid tossed Harry off again.

"Again again!" Harry called, scrambling to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but it's time to go. It's nearly dinnertime."

"Oh, sir! Can't we stay a little while longer?! Please?!" Harry begged.

"I'm afraid not."

"But . . . but . . . I don't wanna go!" Harry said, his large green eyes filling with tears.

"Ah, Harry, lad," Hagrid said, flopping onto his back and throwing his arms wide. "I'm afraid yeh've worn me out. I don' think I can move."

Harry pounced on the giant's stomach, forcing an "oomph!" from the man, his tears forgotten. He lay across Hagrid and stared up at Snape. "Can we come back again?"

"Of course we can," Snape promised. "Whenever Hagrid can find the time."

"Tomorrow?" Harry asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not," Hagrid said. "Classes tomorrow. But how about you and I make a reg'lar date on Sunday afternoon? Right here. Every Sunday."

"Sunday?" Harry complained. "That's like a million years from now!"

"Harry," Snape warned.

"All right," Harry conceded with bad grace. "Sunday." Suddenly, he smiled and threw his arms around Hagrid (or as far around the man's bulk as he could get) and rested his cheek on the man's chest. "Thank you, Hagrid."

Hagrid patted the boy gently on the back. "Yer welcome, Harry. Yer welcome."

##########

Snape could see that Harry was exhausted, and he thought a bath before dinner would avert problems after dinner.

"Did you have fun today, Harry?" Snape asked as he assisted the boy out of the tub.

"Yes. Hagrid was kind of scary at first, because he's so big, but he's really fun. He's a great horsie!"

Snape smiled sadly as he towel-dried Harry's back, more than a little jealous of the easy attachment Harry had formed with someone who had been a stranger this morning. He was forced suddenly out of his self-pity when Harry threw his arms around Snape's neck and embraced him tightly. Instinctively, Snape returned the hug, then self-consciously realized he was holding a very naked nineteen-year old man. That thought flew out of his head when Harry said, "I love you, sir."

The words were getting easier every time he said them. "I love you, too, Harry. Now let's get you dressed."

##########

Four days later, Halloween arrived and with it came Harry's headache and the loss of another year of his life. Harry was now five.

##########

November brought snow to the grounds of Hogwarts and also to Harry's outdoor haven in the Room of Requirement. Every Sunday, directly after lunch, Snape dropped Harry off, and the boy and Hagrid spent three hours throwing snowballs, building forts and snowmen, and rolling about in the snow. Some Sundays, Ron joined them as well. Harry returned each Sunday almost too exhausted to eat dinner.

Though Harry retained his nineteen-year old body, the energy to operate it seemed to be coming from the five-year old mind inside. Snape noted that Harry's coordination was deteriorating, and he began to require afternoon naps to make it through the day without tantrums. Snape also noticed that Harry's vocabulary was diminishing, and when he tested him, discovered the boy could read only the simplest of words. Regardless of what Harry's body told the eyes, the person living inside was five years old and getting younger by the day. In moments when he was especially tired, Snape began to despair of ever finding a solution to the problem.

Halfway through November, Snape noticed that Harry sang almost all the time. When he was playing or looking at books, he almost always had a song on his lips. Clearly, some time between Harry's fourth and fifth birthdays, he'd gone from a happy melodic child to one who was much more silent. He had talked all the time at age five, but the singing had stopped.

Snape discovered why one evening when he was reading a potions journal and Harry, bathed and dressed in his pajamas, was sitting on the floor rolling a ball for George to chase.

"'London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down'," he sang under his breath. "'London Bridge is falling down, my fair lady.' Oh, here's Gracie," he said when the other cat came streaking from under the sofa and pounced on top of George. "'London Bridge is falling down'," he continued. Then, in a strange voice, as though he was mocking someone, he said, "Potter, stop that caterwauling." Then, in his own voice, softly and with heartbreaking sadness, "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Snape sat listening, stunned. He'd wondered more than once what Harry remembered. He'd never forgotten Snape or the other people he'd re-met after he'd lost another year of his mental life, so clearly the events he'd experienced since his curse remained with him. Which, Snape thought sadly, meant that somewhere inside him, Harry remembered the time he'd spent in prostitution.

Snape had presumed that Harry had no memory of his life prior to Hogwarts, of his time with his nasty Muggle relatives. The boy had never spoken of his mother's family, so Snape assumed the memory of them had been erased by the curse. Apparently not. Somewhere deep inside that tangled mess that was Harry's brain was the memory of an uncle who tried to squash the spirit of a little boy who loved to sing. And if _that _was in there, what else might be boy be repressing?

Snape set his journal aside. "Harry," he said softly.

Harry looked up at him, all big green eyes and smiles.

"Come here."

Harry willingly got up and climbed into Snape's lap in the rocking chair. He snuggled into Snape's lap, and Snape held him firmly against his chest and looked down at the boy. "I love to hear you sing, Harry. Would you sing for me?"

Harry smiled. "What do you want me to sing?"

"What other songs do you know?"

"Hmmm," Harry said, thinking. "I know Mary Had a Little Lamb."

"I love lamb," Snape said. "Sing that one."

Harry did. When he'd finished, he looked up at Snape. "Do you know this one? 'Hogwarts Hogwarts, hoggie warty Hogwarts. Teach us something please'. Um, that's all I know, actually."

Snape nearly dropped Harry in his shock. There was no way a five-year old Harry should know the Hogwarts school song. Nonchalantly, he asked, "Where did you learn that song?"

"I dunno," Harry said.

"Did Hermione teach it to you? Or maybe Hagrid?" Snape pursued.

"I don't think so. It was just in my head." Harry snuggled more firmly down into Snape's lap. Months ago, such contact would have driven Snape slightly mental, but as Harry had de-aged, he'd become less of a sexual being in Snape's mind and more of a little boy. He couldn't remember the last time Harry had woken with an erection, and he didn't think the boy had masturbated for months. Every now and then he'd catch the boy with a hand down his pants, but he said, "Get your finger out of your nose" far more often than he said, "Take your hand out of your pants." Human beings had been built to find stimulation in certain areas pleasurable for a reason. Survival of the species and all that. Surely even a small child felt that on a basic biological level. But Harry's juvenile brain had finally gotten control of his much older body. Snape was no pedophile, and even he could separate the nineteen-year old Harry once was from the helpless, trusting child squirming now in his lap.

"Did you like it?" Harry asked, seemingly worried that he'd displeased Snape in some way.

"I liked it very much," Snape assured. "Do you know another?"

"You sing to me," Harry requested, resting his head on Snape's shoulder and closing his eyes.

"I'm afraid I'm not a very good singer."

"S'all right," Harry said, then yawned. "I'll love it because I love you."

Snape squeezed Harry a little tighter. He really was a very sweet boy. "All right. I'm not sure I know any songs."

"Didn't your mum used to sing to you?" Harry asked. "Mine did."

Snape wished this boy would stop making him feel as though he was reeling. He couldn't possibly remember Lily singing to him, could he?

"Sir?" Harry prompted. "You could sing 'London Bridge' if you don't know any songs. I could teach you."

"Maybe you could teach me tomorrow," Snape said. "I think I remember a song _my _mum used to sing. Ready?"

"Mm hmm," Harry said, his voice thick with sleep.

"_Oh, hush thee, my baby,_

_Thy sire was a knight,_

_Thy mother a lady, _

_Both lovely and bright;_

_The woods and the glens,_

_From the towers which we see,_

_They all are belonging,_

_Dear baby, to thee._

_Oh, hush thee, my baby,_

_Thy sire was a knight,_

_Oh, hush thee, my baby,_

_So bonnie, so bright._

_Oh, fear not the bugle,_

_Tho' loudly it blows,_

_It calls but the warders_

_That guard thy repose;_

_Their bows would be bended,_

_Their blades would be red,_

_Ere the step of a foeman_

_Draws near to thy bed._

_Oh, hush thee, my baby,_

_Thy sire was a knight"_

Harry was asleep before Snape got to the second chorus, but he finished the song anyway.

##########

The following day, Snape sent owls to Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey and Hagrid. All denied having taught Harry the school song. When Molly arrived to watch Harry for the day, she denied it as well. Finally, Snape asked Hermione.

"No, sir. It wasn't me. Why?"

"Harry sang it last night."

Hermione seemed just as stunned by this as Snape had been. "Maybe it was the Headmistress, or . . .?"

"She said no. As did Poppy and Hagrid. The only person with regular contact with Harry that I haven't asked is Mr. Weasley."

"I doubt it was Ron," Hermione said. "He always hated that song. I'll ask him, though, just to be sure. What do you think it means?"

"I'm not entirely sure, and I am loathe to get anyone's hopes up. But he mentioned his uncle as well, and he told me that his mother used to sing to him."

"So it's not just the school song!" Hermione exclaimed. "He has memories of his life before!" Hermione's voice betrayed her growing excitement. "Professor, this _has_ to be a good thing, don't you think?"

"I am not your professor," Snape pointed out. "I think it would not do to get overly optimistic about anything at this point."

"But . . ."

"But I will concede that the fact that he has these memories bodes well for being able to recover them and perhaps many more, should we be able to stop the progression of the curse. Because obviously, Miss Granger, if we cannot do that, whatever memories he has will be irrelevant."

"Then I guess we'd better stop talking and get reading," Hermione said, her optimism renewed.

##########

Every hour they'd spent in research hadn't been enough. Yesterday, December 1, Harry had turned four. The amount of time they had left felt like it was measured now in weeks instead of months.

"Tea, Severus?" Hermione asked, interrupting Snape's frustrated thoughts.

"What? Oh, yes, please."

Hermione poured. "We're doing all we can," she said quietly.

"And yet it's not enough!" Snape growled. "We've been at this for months! Four of us, pouring almost constantly through book after book, for mention of some spell that is apparently so obscure no one ever wrote it down!"

Hermione shared his frustration, but it boiled down to the fact that there was nothing else they could do to help Harry, and until it was one minute too late, she wouldn't stop looking. Neither would Snape, she knew, despite his current pique. The man was usually in such tight control of his emotions. It was good to vent sometimes.

"I find it helpful to punch something when it gets to be too much," she offered.

The edges of Snape's lips twitched up. "Not Mr. Weasley, I hope."

Hermione laughed. "Not yet."

Snape sighed. "I apologize for my outburst of pessimism. I will endeavor not to succumb to the despair."

"It's all right," she assured him. "It seems an insurmountable task still."

"Yes," Snape said, grabbing up the next book in his stack. "How much simpler would it be if I could simply say, 'Accio book containing de-aging spell' and have this over with?"

A rumbling in a nearby stack of books drew their attention. The stack, nearly four feet high and containing books that had no titles, was vibrating. Hermione and Snape turned to look at one another, their eyes wide as saucers, then back at the tower of books.

The vibrating increased until the stack toppled over. A book which had been in the bottom third of the stack detached itself from the debris and sailed toward them. It nearly hit Snape in the head before he dropped the book he was already holding and reached up to catch it by the spine. He stared at Hermione for a moment, then set the book on the table in front of him.

It was bound in red leather, the page edges guilded with burnished gold. There was no title and no author, which is why it had been placed in a stack of like unidentified volumes for perusal later, after the more promising books had been exhausted.

Snape stared at the book, sure in the pit of his stomach that this was it. Hesitantly, not sure what he'd do if he was wrong, he opened the cover. The first few pages were blank, no title and no author identified anywhere. Snape continued flipping pages until he came finally to a page with writing on it.

**A COMPENDIUM OF ORIGINAL SPELLS**

**Compiled by Lucius Malfoy**

**Illustrated by Bellatrix LeStrange**

"Lucius and Bellatrix," Snape muttered, sure that that combination could only produce something nasty. He continued turning pages and found a Table of Contents.

**I. Instantaneously Lethal Spells p. 5**

**A. Internal p. 6**

**B. External p. 19**

**II. Delayed Action Lethal Spells p. 33**

**A. Internal p. 34**

**B. External p. 63**

**III. NonLethal Spells p. 101**

**A. Internal p. 102**

**B. External p. 108**

"Page thirty-four, you think?" Hermione asked from just above Snape's shoulder. He'd been so engrossed, he hadn't heard her get up and come around the table.

"A good place to start," Snape agreed, and he flipped through the pages, passing gruesome illustrations depicting the effects of the curses described in the pages along the way. He could clearly imagine Bella's glee as she penned these horrific images. Page Thirty-four was headed:

**Delayed Action Lethal Spells**

and was followed by this explanation:

**These curses are ideal for circumstances when you wish to inflict pain over a long period of time or when you need time to get away in order to establish an alibi for the time of death. **

"Nice," Hermione noted.

Snape silently agreed, then turned to the next page to begin searching the section of spells which would kill a person, slowly, from the inside out. He flipped through the pages as quickly as possible, skipping over spells which would slowly increase the temperature of a person's blood until it was boiling in their veins, or enlarge a person's brain until it no longer fit in the skull, or slowly shrink the internal organ of your choice until it was the size of a pea. The illustrations were horrifyingly gruesome. Hermione would have liked to close her eyes, but this too important.

Snape ignored the girl's little noises of distress and kept turning pages until he arrived at a page titled "De-Aging Spells". He quickly flipped to the end of the section and determined there were seven different spells.

So this was it. They were down to seven spells. They needed only to identify the spell, then they could begin the process of figuring out how to counter it.

Snape turned back to the first page of de-aging spells. Hermione pulled up a chair close to Snape's, so he pushed the book over towards her a little so she could see as well.

"This spell," Snape said, reading, "contains a physical component. The body de-ages as well as the mind. It's not this one." The next three spells also contained physical de-aging, and they skipped those as well. They were down to three.

Snape took a deep breath. What if it wasn't here? He was almost afraid to look.

"God! What if it's not here!" Hermione whispered, her voice betraying all the emotion Snape was feeling.

Snape didn't answer, but he did resume reading. The first spell de-aged its victim immediately. According to the description, the body took several weeks to shut down, and all the while, the victim was practically a vegetable. This was obviously not it.

And then – there it was. A spell which would slowly, periodically, steal the victim's mental age while leaving his body basically untouched. The duration of the spell depended on the victim's age at the time of casting and could take many years to come to fruition. The spell erased all memories up until the time of casting. The curse was marked by periodic terrible headaches during which the mental equivalent of one year of life was ripped from the victim's consciousness. Eventually, the victim's brain reverted to its pre-birth state, and all bodily functions shut down.

To be sure they had the right curse, Snape turned to the next page and read the last de-aging spell, but that curse contained a refreshing of the memory wiping component, so that once a month, the victim lost not only a year of life, but also the memories he or she had formed during the previous month. Obviously, Harry wasn't suffering from this curse, so Snape turned back to the previous page and read through the entry there again.

"There's an end note," Hermione said.

And so there was. The very last line of the description said, "See end note 8, p. 121."

Snape quickly turned to page 121. And there it was. The countercurse, spelled out just as plainly as the curse had been on page 56. Snape pushed the book away and folded his arms on the tabletop. He lowered his head to his arms, his hair billowing out to cover his face.

Hermione looked on, concerned when Snape's shoulders started shaking, and he started making little huffing noises. Was he laughing or crying? "Professor?" she asked, raising a hand to touch his shoulder, but stopping just short, not quite daring.

Snape raised his head. He was laughing, but tears were streaming down his face. So it was both.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, why I didn't try that before. We've been here for weeks and weeks, and all we needed was a simple accio. So tell me why I didn't try that before."

"Um . . . we didn't expect it to be that easy?"

Snape threw back his head and laughed. "Exactly!" he crowed. "It couldn't possibly be that easy! And yet, it was!"

Hermione thought Snape was getting a little hysterical, so she stood up. "Maybe a cup of tea . . ."

Snape jumped to his feet. "Forget the tea! We must celebrate!"

To Hermione's extreme surprise, Snape grabbed her up in his arms and began dancing her around the room, somehow missing the stacks of books everywhere.

"We did it!" he chanted. "We did it!"

Relief swept through Hermione. They _had _done it. They'd discovered the way to save Harry. Giving in to Snape's exuberance, Hermione began to laugh along with the older man as he continued to whirl her around.

Ron stepped into the room, and his mouth fell open. "What in the bloody hell . . ."

The dancing couple stopped and stared at him before Hermione disengaged herself from Snape's embrace. "Ron! We found it! We found the spell! And there's a countercurse!" She hurtled across the room and into Ron's arms. As he held her, he stared suspiciously at Snape over her head. Snape just looked back, his innocent expression belied by a sly smile.

##########

Snape duplicated the spell and the end note, reluctant to take the book from the protected room. He then requested the presence of an elf, whom he instructed to ask the Headmistress and Poppy Pomfrey to report to his quarters immediately.

"Let's go share the good news."

Harry was excited to see them when they entered.

"Sir! Look at the picture I made!" Harry said, running at Snape with a piece of parchment.

Snape took the parchment and looked at it. A crude, child-like drawing of two stick people next to what was likely a – stalk of broccoli?

"That's you," Harry explained, pointing at the much taller stick figure. "And that's me."

"And that is . . ." Snape prompted.

"That's a Christmas tree!" Harry decreed, pointing at the green blob, a smile dominating his face. "It's you and me at Christmas!"

"It's wonderful, Harry," Snape said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Where shall we hang it?"

Instead of answering, Harry threw his arms around Snape's waist and hugged him. "You're home!"

Snape hugged him back. "I'm home. Say hello to Ron and Hermione."

Harry let go and bounded over to greet his friends.

"You're early for lunch," Molly noted.

"We have news." A knock sounded on the door. "Ah, that'll be Minerva and Poppy."

Once everyone was assembled and seated, Snape explained why they were there. He showed them the curse, and they discussed the countercurse. While they talked, Harry played with cars at their feet.

"Severus, this is wonderful news!" Minerva said, her eyes sparkling. "You should be commended!"

"It has been a team effort," Snape said modestly. "We have all contributed. Including Hagrid. Minerva, if you would be so kind as to let him know? I would have invited him down, but well . . ." The reason was obvious. Half giants and low-ceilinged dungeons didn't mix well.

"Certainly. So when are you going to do it?"

"I see no reason to wait. Tonight, I think."

"So the counter stops de-aging him," Ron said. "Then what?"

"Then we figure out how to rectify what has been done," Hermione said.

"So we're only halfway to a solution, then?" Ron noted, as though determined to put a damper on everyone's excitement.

"At least we discovered how to stop the curse now rather than weeks from now when we'd be changing Mr. Potter's nappies," Snape growled.

"Hey! I don't wear nappies!" Harry protested.

"No, you most certainly do not," Snape agreed with a pointed look at Ron.

"I didn't mean . . ." Ron sputtered. "Of course, I'm thrilled about this." And he was. "But he's . . . F-O-U-R, yeah? Maybe forever?"

"Let's all be grateful the research isn't in your hands, Mr. Weasley," Snape noted with a sneer.

"Is it lunch time?" Harry asked, breaking the tension. "'Cause I'm hungry."

"When are you _not_ hungry, imp?" Snape asked. "Let me guess. You want spaghetti."

"Can we?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Go tell the elves," Snape requested.

Harry jumped up. "You're _all_ staying! Yippee!" And he raced out to complete his chore, leaving the adults behind, smiling fondly at his wake.

##########

"Harry, come here, please," Snape requested.

When Harry presented himself, Snape smoothed the boy's perpetually ruffled hair, still wet from his bath. "Sit down on the sofa," Snape instructed.

Harry did, and Snape sat beside him. "I'm going to cast a spell on you," he said.

"With your wand?" Harry interrupted.

"Yes, with my wand. I don't expect it to hurt. In fact, I'm not sure you'll feel anything at all. I just need you to sit still for a few moments. Can you do that?"

Harry ignored the question. "What's it gonna do to me?" he asked, seeming somewhat worried.

How to explain? "You know that some time ago, you lost your memories?" Snape asked.

Harry shrugged vaguely. He'd known, once, that something had happened to him, but the younger he got, the more difficult it was to understand just what. He was four, and he lived very much in the now.

"A bad man did that to you," Snape pressed on, even though it was clear that Harry really didn't understand. "When he did, he also stole away a part of you. A little bit at a time. But Hermione and I figured out a way to make it stop. By casting this spell, he can't take any more away from you."

"Is the spell going to change me?"

"No, I don't think so."

"'Cause I thought you liked me like I am," Harry said, somewhat sadly.

Snape drew the boy into a hug. "It's _because_ I like you so much that I'm going to cast this spell. This way, you will stay exactly like you are right now."

Harry allowed himself to be held for a moment before pulling away. "It won't hurt?"

"I don't think so." He wasn't sure, and he wouldn't lie to the boy.

"All right," Harry said. "You can do it. Can Hermione hold my hand?"

"It's better if she doesn't," Snape said. "At least until I'm finished."

"But I'll be right here," Hermione promised. Snape had asked her to stay, just in case something went wrong.

"Ready?" Snape asked.

Looking frightened, Harry nevertheless nodded.

"That's my brave boy," Snape said. He stood up and pointed his wand at Harry, running the complicated spell through his mind. He'd been practicing it, out loud and in his head, all day, afraid of getting it wrong. He was very sure he had it memorized, but other doubts were starting to creep in.

"Professor?" Hermione questioned after many moments had passed.

Snape lowered his wand. "Are we doing the right thing?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what if we are not able to reverse the damage? What if he remains a preschooler inside the naturally-aging body of a man, for the rest of his life? He's a wizard. He could live another hundred years. Are we doing him any favors consigning him to live as a child for the remainder of the time he has on this earth? Perhaps it would be more merciful to let this curse progress to it's . . . unnatural conclusion."

"Professor! You don't mean that! You'd be consigning him to die! Regardless of whether we can reverse the damage, we _have_ to do this. We _have _to save him! Even if it means we have to care for him for the rest of his life!" He couldn't seriously be considering any other alternative, could he?

Snape stared down at Harry, who was starting to fidget from having to sit still so long while adults carried on a conversation around him that he didn't understand. Harry looked up at Snape and somehow sensed the turmoil the man was experiencing, and he smiled reassuringly. Something changed in his sir's eyes, a sort of warming of the onyx there. Harry watched as the wand was raised to point at him again and his sir began to speak a long string of words that Harry didn't understand. A weird, tingly feeling washed over Harry once Sir stopped speaking, and he shivered.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, moving to sit beside Harry.

Harry nodded. "Didn't hurt at all."

Hermione put an arm around him and pulled him close. "Oh, I brought something for you," she told him.

Harry perked up. "What is it?"

"Go and see," Hermione urged. "It's in my bag by the door."

Harry smiled at her and bounded across the room. He gave a little squeal of joy at the toy car he found in Hermione's bag and immediately started zooming it around the room.

"A little early for Christmas, isn't it?" Snape asked.

Hermione shrugged. "He's so easy to please. The smallest things bring him so much joy. I know what his life was like when he was _really_ four, and I just want to make up for that with all the love and attention a little boy requires, and yes, a little gift every now and then, for absolutely no reason."

They both watched Harry, now laying on the floor and running the car over his stomach and chest, making appropriate engine noises. He noticed them looking and smiled up at them. Then he jumped to his feet. "Look, sir!" he said, holding the car out toward Snape. "The doors work and everything!"

Snape reached out with one finger and opened one of the doors. "Incredible," he said. "I don't believe I heard you thank Hermione, though."

"Thank you!" Harry said, throwing his arms around her. Hermione hugged him back.

"You're very welcome, Harry."'

"Harry, it's bedtime," Snape informed him. "Why don't you go use the loo one more time?"

After Harry left, Hermione said, "Do you think it worked?"

"I believe so, but we cannot know for sure until the end of the month arrives. If he has no headache . . ."

"And when do we begin trying to reverse the curse?"

"The sooner we get started, the better I would think. I will start with Poppy to determine what memory healing spells are available. The solution may be potions-based. We may discover that a combination of spells and potions is our best bet." Snape ran a hand over his face, tired at the mere thought of more research to come.

"Now that we've removed the immediacy of the problem, perhaps a small break wouldn't be remiss," Hermione said, reading the tiredness on Snape's face for what it was. "I have to believe we'll find the answer, Professor. But even if we don't, we've saved him. _You've_ saved him."

"Sir!" Harry called from the bathroom. "I peed on the floor! Sorry!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "But who is going to save _me?" _he asked.

##########

"And what is this letter?" Snape asked, holding up a block. He sat on the floor with Harry.

"B," Harry said, reaching out to take the block. He set it carefully on top of the tower he was building.

"And this?"

Harry studied the block. "U?" he said uncertainly.

"Close," Snape said warmly, as he handed the block over. "It's a V. How about this one?"

Harry knew this one. "M." He reached for the block, but Snape pulled it back. "Ah ah. What is it now?" He inverted the block and held it out for Harry to see.

"W!" Harry crowed.

"Excellent," Snape praised, giving Harry the block and ruffling the boy's hair.

Snape sorted through the blocks until he found H, A, R and Y. He lined them up. "Look. Your name."

"That's not my name, sillyhead," Harry argued with a mischievous grin. So, of course, Snape had to tickle him until Harry begged for mercy. When he was no longer giggling, Harry pointed to the row of blocks. "Needs 'nother R," he said.

Snape smiled proudly at him. "So it does. You are a very bright boy."

Harry smiled warmly at Snape. "We don't have 'nother R."

Snape picked up another block and tapped it with his wand. "Now we do." He placed the new R before the Y.

"Harry," said Harry.

"Harry," Snape agreed.

Snape's floo flared, and a familiar voice said, "May I come through?"

Snape got to his feet before answering. "Of course."

Hermione came through the fire and smiled broadly at both of them. "Hi, Harry. Hello, Severus."

"Hermione! Look! My name!" Harry said, pointing at the blocks.

"I see, love."

"Wanna play blocks with me and Sir?" Harry invited.

"I wish I could. I just came by to extend an invitation to you from Molly. She'd like you two to spend Christmas at the Burrow. She's sending you an owl, but I wanted to come in person, too."

Harry gasped excitedly. "Can we, sir? Can we go?"

"I'm afraid not, Harry. Hogwarts is a much safer place for you," Snape said. "Thank Molly for me," he told Hermione. "I do appreciate the invitation, but I feel that moving him out from the protections that Hogwarts offers is just too risky right now.

"I thought you'd feel that way," Hermione admitted. "Perhaps some of us can stop by on Christmas day?"

"We would both like that," Severus assured her.

##########

Snape sighed deeply as he relaxed into the sofa cushions with a drink in his hand. He'd finally gotten Harry to sleep. The boy was so excited. Christmas was tomorrow, and Harry was anticipating it just like any normal four-year old would. He'd been filled with energy all day and had fought going to bed even more than usual. Only when Snape threatened him that Santa would not come until Harry went to sleep would the boy settle down.

Snape spelled the lights down and sat with only the sparkling Christmas tree lights. Harry had had so much fun decorating the tree and making Christmas pictures which had been hung all around the room. Snape had asked Hermione to pick up several presents for Harry, and he was looking forward to the boy opening them as much as Harry was. Snape had never looked forward to Christmas like he was this year. Having a child around gave an entirely new meaning to the season.

Snape sighed again and sank a little lower. He was so glad he was no longer Head of Slytherin. If he were, he'd have to leave the comfy confines of his quarters and venture out into the dungeons to check on the Slytherins who had stayed at Hogwarts for the holiday. The Headmistress had mentioned that an unusually large number of Slytherins had stayed this year. Thankfully, that was Sinistra's problem now.

Snape finished off his drink and heaved himself to his feet. He was tired himself, and he suspected Harry would be up early tomorrow. He quietly got ready for bed and slipped in beside a sleeping Harry. He was asleep almost immediately.

##########

And he woke up just as quickly, his finely-honed senses telling him something was wrong. He immediately checked on Harry, but the boy was lying peacefully sleeping by his side. It took only a moment longer to realize that his ward alarms were going off. Someone was in his quarters! Snape crept soundlessly out of bed and out of the bedroom, his wand drawn, his every sense attuned for danger.

Snape stood just outside the door to this bedroom in the complete darkness, listening, _feeling_. There were four of them, moving around in his sitting room, getting closer. How could he neutralize all of them? How could he call for assistance? How could he protect Harry against these odds? Quietly, he swung the bedroom door closed.

He needed to get to the floo and call Minerva for reinforcements. But he couldn't leave the bedroom door, and direct access to Harry, unguarded. Damnation! Why hadn't they gone to the Burrow?!

Wordlessly, Snape warded the bedroom door with spells to repel curses and people and spells to keep Harry from hearing what was going on out here. Then he began to inch toward the floo. When he got to the mantle, he felt in the dark for the floo canister and soundlessly opened it. When he closed his hand around some powder, he took a deep breath, flung the powder into the hearth, and called, "Headmistress' quarters!" Then he immediately threw himself to the floor to avoid the hexes that he knew would be coming his way.

"Minerva!" he shouted from the floor. "We are under attack!" He cast a spell to keep the floo connection open so that Minerva would hear the sounds of battle.

Snape peeked up over the sofa back, pinpointed the location where one of the hexes had come from, and flung a _Stupefy_ in that direction. When he heard a satisfying thump against the wall, he decided there was no point in fighting in the dark, and he flicked his wand up to ignite the torches.

Snape would have gaped if he'd had the time. There _were_ four of them, all seventh-year Slytherins. Students. _Students_ had infiltrated his quarters and were attempting to hex him. Perhaps this explained why so many had stayed for the hols.

So what to do now? He was outnumbered now three to one. The three students remaining on their feet all turned to face him when the lights came on, their wands pointed at him. Maybe he could talk them out of this madness.

"What are you doing?" he asked them.

Out of fear and respect for Severus' wands, none of them had tried to openly hex him.

Marcus Jennings, who seemed to be the leader of this little cabal, spoke. "Following orders."

"Whose orders?" Snape inquired.

"That's not important."

"Perhaps not to you," Snape countered. "And if you're going to kill me, what difference does it make if I know on whose orders you do so? You needn't answer in any event. I know Lucius Malfoy sent you." And probably provided them with the information they needed to dismantle Severus' wards. Lucius certainly knew Snape well enough.

Jennings shifted, and Snape knew that he was right. "What has he promised you? Money? Glory? A place in his 'new world order'?" He said this last with the contempt it deserved.

"None of that is important," Jennings said. "Where is Potter?"

"You may as well kill me now because you'll not get him. Not while I'm alive." _Where _was Minerva?

"Check the other rooms," Jennings ordered.

When one of the others, Olivia Dunleavy, made her way toward the closed bedroom door, Snape warned, "I wouldn't do that."

She ignored him, and as soon as she touched the door, she was blasted backward against the wall. She slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"I tried to warn you," Snape said helpfully.

"Unward the door," Jennings ordered.

"No."

"If I kill you, your wards will fall," Jennings countered.

"True," Snape agreed. "So do it." He was counting on the boy's vehemence for the cause being stronger than his stomach for killing. And his own speed and experience against this relatively untrained boy and his companion.

In the next several seconds, several things happened nearly simultaneously. The bedroom door opened. Snape wanted to yell, "No!" but didn't want to call any more attention than necessary to Harry. His restraint was pointless because the fourth intruder, Esa Hedgerow, spotted him as well and turned to point her wand at him. Harry stood in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes like a small child, then gaping at the boy who was pointing a wand at his sir. Minerva McGonagall's voice came out of the floo, saying, "I'm coming through!"

Harry scrunched his eyes closed and wailed, "Nooooooo!" A wave of magic, strong and pure, burst from the boy and flattened everyone in the room, including Snape. Harry turned and ran back into the bedroom.

Minerva burst out of the floo, followed closely by Simeon Wallace, the current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. They both took in the prone forms of the five people there, then turned to look at each other. "Looks like we're too late," Minerva noted.

While the Headmistress went to Snape, Wallace checked on the others. "Restrain them," Minerva ordered when she learned all were breathing. "I don't know what happened here, but clearly these students do not belong in Severus' quarters at this time of night."

Wallace took care of the students while Minerva ennervated Severus and helped him to slowly sit up. "What happened here, Severus? How did you subdue four of them?"

Snape looked around, still dazed and confused. "Wasn't me," he finally said. "It was Harry." And then, as if remembering everything all at once, "Harry!" Snape yelped, struggling to his feet.

As quickly as he could, Snape made his way to the bedroom. "Harry?" he called out when he found the bed unoccupied. He dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. Empty. He checked the bathroom. Where _was _he? "Harry?" he called quietly. "It's all right now, Harry. It's all over."

Snape heard a sob from the cupboard, and he cautiously opened the door. Harry sat on the floor, way in the back, hugging his knees, his rabbit squished between his body and his legs, rocking back and forth and crying. Once again, Snape went to his knees.

"Harry. Come on out here. You're safe now."

Harry uncurled and crawled frantically to Snape, throwing himself into the man's arms. Snape pulled him close, cradling the boy's head under his chin, shushing Harry as he continued to sob, thanking every god he could think of that the boy was safe. Snape continued to murmur inanities into Harry's ear until the boy finally quieted to occasional sniffles.

"Is he all right?" Minerva asked from the door.

"He is unhurt. Just very frightened. Come, Harry. Let's get up." Snape stood, pulling Harry up with him. Harry stood, but continued to cling to Snape.

"Harry, I must go into the other room and deal with the situation there. You stay here. I will not be long."

"No!" Harry cried, tightening his grip on Snape. "Don't leave me!"

"Severus, let me get them out of your sitting room," Minerva suggested softly, reaching out to stroke Harry's hair soothingly. "Then we can talk out there."

Snape moved to the bed and sat, holding a trembling Harry until Minerva gave them the all-clear. Snape requested a glass of warm milk for Harry and settled the boy at his side with his rabbit. As Severus explained what had happened, Harry slowly slunk lower and lower until his head rested on Snape's thigh and he was snoring lightly. Snape carded a hand absently through the boy's hair.

"But how did they get in?" Minerva asked.

"You'll have to ask them, but I suspect Lucius provided them with enough information to at least partially dismantle the wards.

"Oh, I shall ask, believe me," Minerva said, obviously angry that students had dared do this. "Or, the Aurors will," she corrected herself. "They should be here momentarily, and I should be present when the students are questioned. Are you all right here, Severus?"

"We will be fine," he assured her. "I think I will move Harry to the Burrow, immediately or perhaps at first light. Having Christmas here may be just too traumatic."

"That's a splendid idea. If I need you, I'll contact you there."

As Minerva exited through the door, Hermione Granger came bursting out of the floo. "Severus! I heard what happened! Are you all right?!"

Snape covered Harry's exposed ear. "Please, lower your voice. The boy is sleeping. We are both fine, as you can see."

"What happened?" she asked, dropping into the chair Minerva had just vacated.

"Four seventh-year Slytherins broke in here. They were sent by Lucius Malfoy."

"What did they want?"

"I believe they intended to kill me. I'm not sure if the plan was to kill Harry or capture him."

Hermione's eyes dropped to a sleeping Harry. "You disarmed them?"

"One of them. My wards got another. Harry took out the other two with a wild burst of magic. Knocked all of us out, in fact."

"Wow. Powerful little bugger."

Snape smiled. "Indeed. And where is Mr. Weasley?" he asked, surprised that Harry's best friend wasn't here to stomp around and demand justice for his mate.

"Someone from the Ministry called and told him what was going on. He's gone to hover around the questioning. They won't let him be involved in the interrogation, of course, but he wanted to be there. And I came here to check on the two of you. Severus, you simply must come to the Burrow. You can't possibly spend Christmas here now."

Snape sighed in resignation. "Actually, I was going to floo Molly as early in the morning as decently possible and beg her to take us."

"You won't have to beg, and you won't be waiting until the morning. Molly is awake. She knows what's going on, and if I don't bring the two of you back with me now, she'll never forgive any of us." She looked down at Harry again. "When he wakes up, he'll be some place safe, surrounded by people who love him."

"Thank you, Hermione. If you don't mind sitting with him for a few minutes, I will go and pack a few things."

"Of course I don't mind."

Severus slid out from under Harry, replacing his leg with a pillow, and went to pack.

##########

Snape made sure he was in the room when Harry woke. Molly had placed them together in one room when they'd arrived here in the wee hours of the morning, but she'd had only camp beds for them to sleep in. Thankfully, Harry had slept through the move and didn't protest not being able to sleep with Snape, but Snape had not wanted the boy to wake up in a strange place alone, not after last night.

He'd begun to hear the sounds of others rising before Harry's eyes blinked slowly open.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," he said with a reassuring smile.

"It's Christmas!" Harry said with a bright smile though he was still mostly asleep.

"It is indeed."

Harry sat up and yawned. Snape handed him his glasses, and when he put them on, he looked around and said, "Where are we?"

"We are at Aunt Molly's house."

A troubled look clouded Harry's features. "'Cause the bad people came."

"Yes."

Harry drew his knees up to hug them, and he looked frantically about for his rabbit, which had fallen to the floor in the night. Snape knew what he needed, and he picked the toy up and placed it in Harry's arms. Kneeling on the floor beside the flimsy bed, Snape put an arm around Harry and drew him close. "It's all right, Harry. You are safe here."

"We were safe at home!" Harry wailed his distress.

"I know," Snape soothed, "but here we are not alone. This house is filled with Weasleys, and none of them will let anything happen to you."

"Or you?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Or me," Snape had to concede.

"George and Gracie!" Harry said, suddenly concerned.

"They are fine," Snape assured him. The cats had hidden when the shooting started, but Snape had seen them both, hungry and uninjured, before they left. "I left them at home. The house elves will take good care of them while we are here. Would you like some breakfast? Or maybe we should check first to see if Santa came last night?"

That thought erased all worries from the boy's face, and his eyes lit up and widened until they seemed to fill his whole face. "Presents!"

"I suspect there might be one or two.

##########

Harry's holiday had been everything Snape could have wanted for him. The Weasleys seemed to have perfected the art of Christmas. It wasn't about the galleons and what they could buy, because the Weasleys had very few of those to spare. What they did have was holiday spirit in abundance, love by the bucketful, and food, glorious food, all set to the background of Christmas – the tree, the lights, the homemade decorations. Harry especially loved the Weasley's wireless, on constantly and playing Christmas tunes. He would stand next to the set, wiggling his hips and bending his knees in time to the music, so adorably cute he melted the hearts of everyone in the room. Even Snape couldn't stop himself from smiling, a warm, pleasurable feeling filling his chest. So _this_ is what Christmas was supposed to be like!

The entire Weasley clan was present, and every last one of them doted on the boy. He was the only "child" present, so he had everyone's attention. He'd received several presents and had been thrilled by them all. He'd played several games of Exploding Snap with Ron and Ginny, he'd been overfed by Molly, he'd been read to by Hermione, and all the while, he'd refused to let Snape out of his sight. The one time he'd tried to use the loo, Harry had pitched such a fit that he'd had to bring the boy into the room with him. Snape supposed it was a natural reaction to what had happened last night, so he let it pass without making an issue out of it. By the end of the day, they were both exhausted, and Harry's exhaustion was showing itself in a way typical of four-year olds.

Harry and Ron were sitting on the floor, about to play a Wizarding version of Chutes and Ladders which Molly had found in an old trunk. "Which color do you want to be, Harry?" Ron asked.

Harry surveyed the pieces. In addition to the four pieces that had come with the game, the Weasleys had added three empty thread spools, each painted a different color. "Pink," he declared.

"Pink?" Ron snorted. "That's a girly color, innit?"

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione scolded. Snape assumed she was upbraiding him about his stereotyping, but she went on. "You _know_ how he is! Don't say that!"

What did _that_ mean? Snape wondered.

Ron ignored her. "How about this nice blue one?"

"I want the pink one!" Harry declared, eyes filling with tears. "But I'm not a girl! I'm not!"

"Whoa, mate, settle down," Ron tried, but it was already too late. Harry's world just fell apart, and he threw his head back and began to wail.

"I'm sorry!" Ron said hastily. "Have the pink one! Please!"

"It's all right, Mr. Weasley," Snape assured him. "He's just overtired. Harry! Harry, stop this nonsense," Snape tried, though he recognized that Harry was beyond the point where he could be reasoned with. The younger Weasleys stood gaping at Harry, slightly horrified. If you'd never seen someone Harry's size throwing a monumental tantrum, it could be disconcerting, Snape supposed. Snape had gotten used to it.

"A bath usually calms him," Snape said to Molly. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Molly said kindly, full of sympathy for both man and boy. She certainly remembered well her own children at this age.

Snape took Harry by the hand. "Come, Harry. How about a nice warm bath?"

"And if it's all right with Severus, perhaps you can come back down for milk and biscuits after," Molly suggested.

His cheeks streaked with tears, Harry nodded forlornly.

##########

The bath had worked wonders, and after biscuits by the tree with Ginny and Ron and the twins, Harry was too tired to fight sleep any longer, and after Snape tucked him into his camp bed, Harry was asleep instantly. Intending to stay on his own bed only long enough to be sure Harry was asleep, and with every intention of going back downstairs and asking Hermione what she'd meant by "You know how he is", Snape fell asleep as well and didn't wake until morning. When he did, he found Harry had somehow wormed his way into the tiny bed with him.

##########

Boxing Day came and went, and the following morning, Snape made ready for he and Harry to return to Hogwarts. He was worried that Harry would react negatively to being back in the dungeons, but the boy seemed bothered not at all. Children were so resilient. Or really good at tucking things away.

Four days later, Snape spent the day watching Harry closely for any signs of distress. History told him the headaches typically struck Harry in the afternoon or evening. Snape had had to restrain himself from positive thinking – until the day was over, he couldn't be sure Harry was out of danger.

Harry had been playing in his room. Snape was trying not to hover and had to make himself stay in the sitting room, though he kept one ear on the boy at all times. Even so, he didn't hear Harry enter the rom and didn't know he had until he heard, "I don't feel so good, sir."

Snape's stomach hit the floor. This couldn't be happening! "Come, Harry," Snape said, opening his arms. Distress written on his face, Harry crossed the room into Snape's embrace. Snape held him close, stroking his hair, near tears. How could it not have worked? What had gone wrong? And what did they do now, with only three months to find a solution?

"Tummy hurts," Harry groaned into Snape's neck.

Wait a minute. _Tummy_ hurts? Snape pushed Harry away gently. "Your tummy hurts?"

"Mm hmm," Harry nodded, arm slinging around his belly protectively.

"Does your head hurt, Harry?" He laid a hand on Harry's head. "Do you hurt up here?"

"No. Just my tummy."

Relief washed over Snape, and he nearly giggled. "Come. We'll get you something to make you feel better. Did you eat _all_ the chocolates you got for Christmas?"

"Not _all_ of them," Harry protested weakly, but Snape could tell that he'd at least eaten _most_ of them.

Snape couldn't help it. He laughed.

##########

After the year turned, confident now that Pomfrey had confirmed that Harry was still operating mentally as a four-year old, Snape turned his attention back to research. He once again spent his days among stacks of books, although the stacks were quite a lot smaller now that the research was narrowed to memory spells and potions (mostly potions). With the urgency removed, Hermione returned to university. Now that he was no longer using books steeped in dark magic, Snape could safely do his research in the comfort of his quarters, which had the added bonus of allowing him to spend more time with Harry.

As he worked, he took copious notes. He was almost certain that he needed a potion, and he read through the many books in Hogwarts' library on the subject. When he'd finished them all, he had narrowed the potential potion ingredients to a few, and he began to experiment with them. After a month, he'd become convinced that part of the answer lie in the Muggle world.

##########

"Are you certain that you don't mind?" Snape asked Hermione, fidgeting worriedly.

"Of course not," she assured him. They'd gone over this already. Several times. "He'll be fine."

"But his bath – perhaps I should wait until after his bath. It is possible that you will find that experience uncomfortable. He does require assistance with washing," Snape argued, both to himself and Hermione. "If left alone, he will come out neither clean nor dry."

"If I find it uncomfortable, I will have Ron help him. And if he can't manage, we'll have Molly over. It'll be fine."

"Yes, but perhaps I should wait until he's in bed, asleep, and then slip out. It might be less traumatic for the boy."

"Until he wakes up and you're gone without having said goodbye," Hermione pointed out. She held back a sigh. Severus should have left thirty minutes ago, but he kept recycling the same reasons why he should delay or not go at all. "Severus," she said sternly, stopping the pacing man in his tracks. "Harry will be fine. It's only two days, and he's excited about Ron and me sleeping over. You know he's talked of nothing else for the last week. We will take good care of him, and if anything happens, we will notify you right away. You know this trip is important."

Snape did know that. He was going to China to consult with a well-known expert on Asian herbs, both wizarding and Muggle. He planned to be gone for two days and had asked Ron and Hermione to stay with Harry. He was finding it difficult to leave.

"It's just that – we've been together constantly since Harry returned. He has grown accustomed to my presence."

Hermione smiled her understanding. "He'll be fine. He knows it's only two days. We'll keep him so busy he won't have time to miss you."

Snape hoped _he_ was kept busy enough not to miss Harry. "I must confess something," he said. "I hope that you will not read into this anything beyond the completely innocent circumstances which brought it about."

Hermione stared at him, curious now.

"Since the very first night, when I found Harry in that hell-begotten place, he has slept with me. I put him to bed in the spare room at Spinner's End, but when I awoke some time in the night, he was in the bed with me. He was so lost and confused, and it seemed to comfort him to have someone nearby, so I let him stay. I give you my word as a wizard and a gentleman that nothing untoward ever –"

"Severus," Hermione interrupted. "I don't need your word. I know you'd never take advantage of Harry. I can see how much he loves you, and you have been nothing short of wonderful with him throughout this whole ordeal."

"Thank you. That means much to me." He cleared his throat. "I should go then."

"Yes, you should," Hermione agreed.

"Harry!" Snape called.

Harry emerged from his room, followed by Ron.

"I must go now," Snape told the boy. "I will be gone for two days. You behave for Ron and Hermione. Obey them when they speak to you. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.

"Come and give me a hug then, and I'll be off."

Harry ran to him, threw his arms around Snape's waist, and hugged him tightly. He looked up after a moment, his green eyes clouded with worry. "You're coming back, right?"

Snape nodded. "In two days. I promise."

Harry hugged him again. "Love you, sir."

Snape kissed the top of Harry's head. "And I love you as well."

Snape disentangled Harry's arms and pushed him gently away. "Goodbye, Harry. I'll see you in two days." And he stepped to the floo without looking back, sure that if he saw tears in the boy's eyes, he wouldn't be able to go.

"Bye, sir," he heard before calling out his destination and stepping into the flames.

##########

As promised, Snape stepped back into his sitting room two days later. He'd expected an enthusiastic greeting from his ward, but he was met with silence. "Is anyone here?" he called. There was no response.

Before Snape could get concerned about Harry's absence, he spotted a prominently-placed piece of parchment on the end table and picked it up.

_Severus:_

_We have gone for a walk on the quidditch pitch. Not sure what time you'll_

_be home, but we'll return in time for lunch._

_Hermione_

Snape thought briefly of walking down to the pitch to meet them, then decided to stay and unpack instead. He was excited to get started on brewing the potion that would hopefully restore Harry to himself. He had put all of his things away and was sitting at his desk, making preparatory notes on parchment, when the door opened, admitting Harry, who raced into the room, bounced clumsily off a chair, regained his balance, then threw himself onto the sofa. Ron and Hermione followed at a more stately pace.

"Who let loose a bludger in here?" Snape asked.

"Severus!" Hermione exclaimed. "You're back!"

"Sir!" Harry shouted, his head popping up over the back of the sofa, a huge smile overtaking his face. He jumped up, raced to Snape, and threw himself into the man's lap, his arms encircling Snape in a tight hug. Snape hugged him back, burying his nose in the boy's hair, which smelled of fresh air and sunshine. He inhaled deeply. He'd missed the irritating twit even more than he'd thought he would.

"Have you been a good boy, then?" Snape asked.

"Uh huh," Harry assured him, pulling away and standing up straight. "Right, 'Mione? I was good?"

"You were an angel," she assured him.

"I missed you," Harry told him.

"And I missed you as well. It is very good to be home."

"I'm hungry," Harry announced.

So much for the emotional homecoming. "Go get washed up, and we'll have lunch. Unless you'd like to see what I brought back for you first."

Harry's eyes lit up. "You brung me a present?"

"Yes, I _brought_ you a present. It's there on the table."

Harry snatched up the wooden panda sitting on the table. "It's a panda!"

"Yes," Snape agreed. "Bring it here."

Harry did, and Snape pulled the top off. "It's called a nesting doll. See? You open it up, and there's another inside. They keep getting smaller and smaller."

Fascinated, Harry began pulling the dolls apart until he came to the tiniest panda, no longer than his smallest fingernail. Each piece was exquisitely painted. Once he had them all apart, Harry began to put them back together. Lunch was forgotten.

"I trust he wasn't too much trouble," Snape said to Ron and Hermione.

"No, he was great," Ron said genuinely. He enjoyed spending time with Harry like this. He'd always wanted a younger brother. Harry, like this, filled that role for him nicely.

"We worked out the bath thing without too much difficulty," Hermione told him. She'd actually been the one to bathe him. She so thought of him as a four-year old that his fully-grown man parts had hardly registered. Harry hadn't been at all self-conscious before her, and she'd surprised herself by feeling the same way. "Oh, and we let him sleep with us. I hope that's okay. He seemed a little lost when I tried to put him to bed by himself."

Truth be told, Snape was a little put off by the thought of _Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger_ sleeping in his bed. The fact that Harry slept there with them seemed of little consequence. And he was hardly going to criticize them for allowing Harry the comfort of sleeping with someone. He wasn't _that_ hypocritical. "That is fine," he assured her.

"He played with some of the first-year Gryffindors out on the pitch just now. They were great with him. He had a lot of fun."

Snape approached the floo, intent on ordering lunch from the kitchen. He was famished. "You'll join us for lunch?" he invited.

"I was hoping you'd ask," Hermione said. "I want to her all about what your trip and what you found."

##########

Hermione stood a respectful distance from Snape as he lay out the ingredients for the potion he was going to brew. He'd extensively studied his notes, perfecting what he thought was the ideal mix of ingredients. He knew that Hermione was dying to know the details, so he started to talk.

"This," he said, fingering a moss-like substance, "is a Chinese moss called huperzia serrata. I believe this is the key. It has been proven to enhance learning and memory. It has also been proven effective in treating age-related memory loss. It has also proven efficacious for boosting short-term retention. I think, in combination with other ingredients, I can create a potion that will stimulate the memories that we suspect are hidden away somewhere deep inside Harry's brain."

"What are the other ingredients?" Hermione quizzed.

"Mainly extract of periwinkle and ginko biloba, which increase blood flow to the brain. In conjunction with the potion, I'll be giving Harry daily vitamin supplements, namely B6, B12 and B9, all of which improve memory."

"How will his memories come back?" Hermione asked. "Will they come flooding back in all at once? Will they come back gradually?"

"I've given that a lot of thought," Snape admitted. "He lost his memories all at once, and it left him dazed and confused. His age degeneration occurred much more gradually, at regular intervals. I believe that if the memories were to come back too quickly, it may create an overload of sorts. Imagine fifteen years' worth of memories suddenly slamming into your brain. I'd like to tailor the potion to return the memories to him a little at a time, perhaps at roughly the same rate he de-aged. If he, for example, were able to recall events that occurred when he was five, I believe the mental functioning would return to that level as well. He will regain some vocabulary and some motor skills, some ability to care for himself. If it works as I hope it will, we will continue to give him the potion at regular intervals, thereby slowly and steadily returning his memories and his mental functioning until his mental age catches up with his chronological age. I think."

"And the potion will do all that?" Hermione asked, amazed.

"The potion only enhances the memory," Snape explained. "The charm I cast on the potion will tailor it to Harry's situation. Magic is all about intent, Miss Granger. Never forget that."

Hermione nodded her understanding. "So once a month he gets the potion?"

"We'll start with that in mind and see how he reacts and how long it takes him to recover from the reinstatement of his memories. If he reacts well, there's no reason why we can't speed up the time table."

"So Harry could be back to us, whole, in just a few months?" she asked hopefully.

"If all goes well, yes." Snape knew that he shouldn't feel sad about that possibility, but he found that he did. His time with the boy he'd come to love would be on the clock as soon as Harry swallowed the first mouthful of potion.

##########

"Well, here goes," Snape said, and he tipped the goblet to his mouth and drank down the contents.

Snape had insisted on testing the potion himself before giving it to Harry. Hermione had insisted on being present in case something went awry. If the foolish girl had only known how many potions, how many much _darker_ potions, he'd tested on himself in the past.

Snape waited for the potion to work its way through his system. When it finally did, he felt an uncomfortable sensation in his brain, as though it were expanding and letting in light, the brightness of that light causing a low-level headache. Snape massaged his temples.

"Everything all right?" Hermione asked.

"A mild headache," he said. "A sensation in my brain of . . . enlarging and filling with light." And now, images – memories – were filtering in. The name of the book he'd been reading to Harry earlier in the month. The location of a present he'd hidden from Harry and then promptly forgotten about. Something Hermione had said at Christmas that had made no sense to him at the time. The ingredient he'd left off the shopping list he'd given Minerva this morning. Little things, really. No startling revelations or repressed memories from childhood. Just mundane, everyday occurrences.

Snape hastily grabbed his journal and scrawled everything down.

"Did it work?" Hermione asked, hovering over his shoulder and trying to read his messy handwriting.

Snape waited until he'd finished recording his impressions, then turned to Hermione. "I believe it did. We'll give it to Harry tomorrow." He twirled the quill around in his fingers. "You said something at Christmas, Miss Granger, that I meant to ask you about."

Hermione knew he was feeling uncomfortable – that was the only time he still called her 'Miss Granger.'

"Yes?"

"When Harry and Mr. Weasley were playing the board game, and Harry wanted the pink token – you said 'You know how he is,' or words to that effect. What did you mean?"

"Oh. You don't know?" she asked, looking up at him, obviously surprised.

"Obviously," he said.

"Harry is gay. Some of the things he likes are decidedly contrary to what society considers proper for blokes. I just thought that comment was a bit insensitive, knowing what Ron does about Harry's preferences."

"Harry is . . . gay?" Snape asked, astounded. He'd never suspected.

"Mm hmm," Hermione confirmed. "He told us sixth year. It's why he broke up with Ginny. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you didn't know. You were hardly chums when he was in school, and no one saw him between the Final Battle and when you discovered him in that . . ." Hermione still couldn't say it, didn't even like to think about it. "And he never really advertised it anyway. But he knew, and he told those of us who were closest to him. I hope this doesn't change anything for you, sir."

"What?" Snape asked, preoccupied with this new knowledge. "No. No, of course not. His preferences make no difference to me at all." He cleared his throat. "Thank you for clearing that up. I will plan on giving the potion to Harry tomorrow morning. If you are available, I would like you to be present, in case of . . . unexpected complications."

"You know I'll be here," she promised.

##########

The following day, though no one could see it from the dungeons, dawned dreary and cold. Snape watched Harry eat his breakfast, studying the boy, trying to commit to memory all his four-year old mannerisms, acutely aware of just how much he was going to miss Harry when he "grew up" and moved away. He knew he had weeks, months even, before Harry caught up to his nineteen-year old self, but as he looked at the goblet of potion sitting on the table, waiting to be administered, he couldn't help but feel the beginnings of the separation. If he was smart, he'd begin to distance himself from the boy now, but as he looked at Harry licking honey off his fingers, he knew he couldn't do it and that he'd cling to the whelp as long as Harry let him.

"Can we go outside?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps later. We're waiting for Hermione this morning."

"'Mione's coming?" Harry asked, perking up.

"She is." They heard the floo. "I bet that's her now."

It was. "Good morning!" she said brightly. She dropped a kiss on the top of Harry's head as she passed him on the way to the chair beside Snape.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

"Yes, but tea would be nice."

As he poured her a cup, Hermione asked, "How are you, Harry?"

"Good. Where's Ron?"

"Ron had to work. You're stuck with me."

"Not stuck," Harry contradicted with a shy smile. "Love you."

Harry's sweetness often brought Hermione to tears. Like now. "I love you, too, pet."

Snape stood up. "Let's get you dressed."

Harry jumped out of his chair. "Race ya!" He ran from the room.

"Oh dear," Snape said, his voice dry as dust as he rose slowly from his chair. "You win. We'll be right back."

##########

"Harry, sit," Snape instructed. He pulled Harry down onto the sofa beside him. "I need you to drink this."

Harry peered into the cup Snape was holding and wrinkled his nose. "What _is_ it?"

"It will help you to remember things."

Harry stuck a finger into the potion and put it in his mouth, sucking the finger clean. "Tastes like strawberries!"

Snape had added a flavoring he knew Harry liked. It was important that the boy drink all of it. "Drink."

His trust in his Sir absolute, Harry took the cup in two hands and tipped it up to his mouth until he'd drained the contents.

"Good boy," Snape praised.

Harry smacked his lips. "Can I go play now?"

"I'd like you to sit here with me for a bit, if you don't mind," Snape requested.

Harry blew out an exasperated breath and slumped back into the sofa. They sat quietly for a time, until Harry said, "Can I go now?"

"How do you feel?"

Harry closed his eyes suddenly and didn't respond.

"Harry?" Snape prompted. "Are you all right?"

"I feel funny," the boy said.

"Funny how?" Snape pressed, reaching over to hold Harry's hand.

"Head feels funny," Harry said, scrubbing a hand against his forehead.

"Funny how?" Snape repeated.

"Just funny."

Snape sighed, guessing that Harry was experiencing symptoms similar to those Snape himself had yesterday, but lacked the vocabulary to describe them. "All right, Harry. It's all right." He pulled the boy close, tucking Harry's head under his chin.

Harry allowed himself to be held for a few moments. "Can I go play now?"

"If you feel well enough," Snape said.

Harry disentangled himself from Snape's arms and stood up. He left the room slowly, his shoulders drooping.

Hermione stood up. "I'll stay with him for a bit. Keep an eye on him."

"Keep him as quiet as possible," Snape requested. "Let's not let him tax himself."

Hermione nodded and followed Harry.

##########

Snape was very glad this day was coming to an end. Harry had been his absolute worst today – obstinate, petulant, rebellious. Every request from Snape had turned into an argument and a tantrum. Harry had broken a vase that had belonged to Severus' great-great-grandmother Prince. _Reparos _on pottery that old never really held, and Snape knew it was only a matter of time before he'd be forced to bin it.

At supper, Harry had balked at eating peas, a food which he usually loved, and had only relented when Snape threatened to withhold pudding. The peas had disappeared quickly after that. Snape discovered where they had gone when he undressed Harry for his bath. The boy's trousers felt abnormally heavy, so Snape checked his pockets. His hand came out of one covered with mushed peas. Snape growled and counted to ten under his breath.

"We do not put our peas in our pockets!" he scolded. "Into the tub!"

"Don't wanna take a bath!" Harry said petulantly.

"At this point, I don't particularly care what you want. It is bath time. Get into the tub."

Harry dropped into a crouch on the floor, his knees bent up around his ears. Naked, he presented a very . . . interesting . . . picture. "I'm a frog," he said. "Ribbit. Ribbit."

"I shall turn you into one permanently if you do not GET INTO THE BATH!"

Harry hopped his way out of the bathroom.

"Harry James Potter, get your arse back here this instant!" Snape shouted. Harry continued ignoring him, so Snape went after him.

A very annoying (and probably amusing, to a totally independent and objective third party) chase ensued. Harry abandoned his frog hopping in favor of the much faster running away from Snape, who chased him round the sofa, through the bedroom and back around the sofa. Finally, Snape stopped, eying Harry angrily, the dining table separating them. Snape was grateful no one had come through his floo – what an absurd picture they would have made.

"Harry," he began reasonably. "Why don't we forget the bath." Snape recognized when he was beaten. Though it was mortifying to be bested by a four-year old, he was unwilling to use magic on the irritating pup and therefore, short of a wrestling match, he was not getting Harry into the tub. "Let's just get you into your pajamas, and we'll read a book."

"No," Harry pouted. "Wanna take a bath."

Snape felt steam coming out of his ears, and this time he had to count to twenty. And then to fifty. "No," he said finally. "No bath."

"Yes!" Harry argued, and he turned and ran for the bathroom, as Snape had known he would. Seconds later, he heard a large splash as Harry apparently jumped into the tub, no doubt getting water everywhere.

Feeling somewhat smug (maybe he _hadn't_ been bested by a four-year old after all), Snape followed slowly. He knew this uncharacteristic behavior wasn't Harry's fault. Uncomfortable things were happening inside the boy's head that he didn't understand, and he was reacting the only way he could. Snape hoped subsequent transformations, when the boy was "older", would be easier on both of them. He didn't want to spend another day like today.

He sighed when he saw the state of the bathroom – more than half the water had exited the tub when Harry had entered it. But Harry was sitting in the remaining water peacefully playing with cups, so Snape gritted his teeth and set about cleaning it up.

##########

When Poppy visited the following day, she relieved everyone's concerns. Harry was five again!

##########

The transformation three weeks later _was _marginally easier. Harry seemed less troubled, less confused, more capable of dealing with the myriad emotions invoked by the memories which flooded back into his consciousness. He still couldn't articulate what he was feeling, but he did ask Snape where his aunt and uncle and cousin were. Wary of feeding Harry more information than his now six-year old brain was ready to process, Snape told him simply that they were at their home in Surrey. Some time later, after he'd processed that information, he asked Snape why he was not with his relatives, and Snape told him only that he lived here in the dungeons now. Harry simply nodded and said, "Good."

##########

Three weeks and another dose of potion later, Harry's maturation into a seven-year old was nearly uneventful. Harry spoke of his memories of school and home and being tortured there by Dudley and his friends and seemed very reassured when Snape told him that he'd never have to see Dudley ever again.

##########

When Harry turned eight, Snape began to notice that Harry was becoming more independent. He could tie his own shoes again, and he required no assistance in the bath (other than cleaning up the floor after he'd finished), though Snape still had to check on him to make sure he touched soap to skin. Snape attempted to shunt Harry into the bed in the second bedroom, but Harry balked, unable to articulate why, but adamant in his refusal.

##########

Nine weeks later, Harry turned eleven. Snape threw him a birthday party and gave him back his wand.

##########

And when Harry turned twelve, the questions started. The memories of his first year at Hogwarts had been restored to him, and he constantly talked them through with Snape. Snape tried to keep his answers simple, not wanting to provide anything but what Harry had experienced during that tumultuous first year. Spread out over the next several days, Harry wanted to know:

why Snape had been so mean to him in his very first potions class (Snape told him he'd been having a really bad day.)

how the troll had gotten into the school on Halloween night (Snape explained that Quirrell had let it in, and he told Harry how proud he was of him for dispatching the troll and protecting Hermione.)

if Snape hated him (Snape had to swallow twice before assuring Harry that he had never hated him.)

what happened to the Sorcerer's Stone (Snape told him he didn't know, which was the truth.)

why Snape had refereed the quidditch match. (Snape explained he had done so because Dumbledore had asked him to.)

whether Snape hated his father. (Snape confessed that he and James had never gotten along well and left it at that.)

where Fluffy was now (Snape didn't know, nor did he want to know.)

how James had saved Snape's life (Snape told Harry he would not discuss this – too much information would have to be revealed that Harry didn't have in his first year.)

and finally, where was Voldemort now? (And Snape didn't hesitate to tell Harry that the Dark Lord was dead.)

Snape suspected the questions and answers would get more disturbing as time went by and Harry regained his memories. There were a lot of thing he wasn't looking forward to explaining.

##########

Three weeks later, it was more of the same.

Was being a parselmouth a bad thing? (No. It was an amazing and unique gift that Harry should cherish.)

Had Gilderoy Lockhart ever regained his memories? (No.)

Would Snape's potion help Lockhart? (Maybe. It had already occurred to Snape that his potion may have other, perhaps lucrative, applications.)

Was he sure Voldemort was dead? (Very.)

##########

As the years returned to Harry's consciousness, the questions continued. Especially difficult was talking about Sirius Black. Harry, of course, didn't remember yet that Sirius was dead and wanted to know where his godfather was and why he hadn't come forward to take care of Harry. Snape told him it was complicated and that Sirius was somewhere he _couldn't _come to Harry, but that if it was at all possible, he would have been here. Snape was more than a little disturbed by the suspicious way Harry looked at him after that less-than-satisfactory explanation.

Still Harry refused to sleep in his own bed, which was becoming uncomfortable for Snape again with the return of Harry's sexual appetite. Especially now that he knew in which direction Harry leaned. Snape reiterated his "not in my bed" speech when he caught Harry furtively stroking himself one morning and resigned himself to a difficult few weeks.

##########

"I got Cedric killed," Harry said, his eyes moist.

"No, Harry. Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew were responsible for Diggory's death. Not you. He had the unfortunate luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Still my fault," Harry whispered. "If I hadn't . . ."

"Stop. I will _not_ let you do this to yourself. You did nothing wrong!"

Harry leaned into Snape, who put an arm around the distraught boy. They sat that way for a time until Harry pulled away from Snape.

"You owe Hermione an apology!"

"What? Why?"

"You were mean to her! When she got hit with that spell that made her teeth grow, you said you couldn't see any difference! That was incredibly mean! You made her cry!"

Snape actually blushed at this memory. "That was not one of my finer moments," he admitted.

"You'll say you're sorry the next time you see her," Harry demanded.

And Harry didn't let it go until Snape actually _had_ apologized to the girl. Stubborn, irritating twit.

##########

Snape very reluctantly gave Harry the latest dose of the memory restoration potion. He knew what was coming – after Harry's sixth year memories had filtered back in, Harry would remember that Dumbledore was dead, that Snape had killed him. And Snape couldn't explain why, so Harry was sure to hate him.

He sat in the armchair across from Harry's seat on the sofa and watched the boy, his eyes closed as he lay back, a slight grimace on his face the only sign of the deluge of memories into his brain. He'd certainly become acclimated to this feeling and was able to handle it now with stoicism. The duration of the process seemed to be lessening with each dose, and Snape waited, knowing that the moment of truth was almost upon them. He wondered briefly if he should have taken Harry's wand, but then Harry's eyes snapped open, and the boy sat up, staring at him, and it was too late.

"You . . ." he said, his breathing harsh and uneven.

"Yes," Snape said simply.

"Why?"

They'd gone over this before. "We've gone over this before," Snape reminded him. "I cannot tell you anything that goes beyond your current memories." Snape was sorely tempted to break that self-set rule. The way Harry was looking at him quite disturbed him. But he wasn't willing to risk the boy's long-term mental health for his own peace of mind. "In three weeks time, when you take the final dose of potion, all of your memories will be returned, and you will see why."

"Did you want to?" Harry asked.

"No."

"Do you regret it?"

"Absolutely."

"The horcruxes . . ."

"Harry," Snape warned. "You know I can't."

Harry collapsed back onto the sofa with an exasperated huff. "He's really gone? It wasn't a trick or a ploy to convince Voldemort or some other devious Dumbledore plan? He's really gone?"

"He's really gone," Snape said softly.

"And you really killed him?"

_Yes _was too simple, and yet too complicated, but he said it anyway.

"Can I go out flying?" Harry asked.

"You don't need my permission. You're an adult now in all ways, and a fully capable wizard. You may come and go as you please."

Without looking at Snape, Harry rose to his feet and made his way out of Snape's quarters. When he reached the door, Snape stopped him.

"Harry?"

Harry didn't look back. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry." He might have been apologizing for the fact that he couldn't tell Harry the entire story, or for killing Harry's mentor, or for any number of other things that Snape had to feel repentant about.

"Me, too," Harry whispered before he left.

##########

Harry returned to Snape's quarters many hours later, his hair wind-tousled, his cheeks reddened. He refused to meet Snape's eye.

"Are you hungry?" Snape asked.

"No. Look, I did some thinking while I was up there, and I realize that there must be something – something big and important to explain why you – why you would do that. Hermione would not have let me stay with you when I was too young to defend myself if you were the ogre we thought you were. She likes you and she trusts you. Ron, too. And Molly and Arthur. So there must be something, and I realize I have to wait for it, but in the meantime, I can't – I just can't . . ."

"It's all right, Harry," Snape assured him. "I understand."

"I think I'm going to turn in early tonight."

"Can I have the house elves bring you something? You should eat."

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

As Harry left the room, Snape said, "Good night, Harry," but if the boy responded, Snape did not hear it. He heard Harry moving about in the bathroom, heard the shower running. And when Snape retired himself at his normal bed time, he found his bed empty. Harry had, for the first time in their re-acquaintance with each other, chosen to sleep in the spare bed. Saddened, Snape got into bed and lay for a long time in the large, empty bed, staring at the ceiling.

##########

After three days, Harry returned to Snape's bed. Snape had already retired and was on the cusp of sleep when he heard the door open. He sensed rather than saw Harry's presence and felt the bed dip when the boy slipped in beside him.

Harry was quiet for a moment before he whispered, "Are you asleep?"

"Yes," Snape whispered back.

Snape felt Harry's smile in the darkness. After a long moment of silence, Harry said, "I want to take the last dose tomorrow."

"It's too soon," Snape argued. He sat up in the darkness and illuminated a single candle by the bed.

"How do you know?" Harry pushed. Snape could see his green eyes glittering in the beggarly light. "There's hardly precedent. I hate this . . . distance between us. I want to know everything. And I don't want to wait another two and a half weeks. Please, Sir."

"You don't have to call me 'sir' any more, Harry. Considering what we've been through, 'Severus' is more than appropriate."

"I like that you're my Sir. Can I take the potion tomorrow? Please?"

Snape sighed. He'd rather not tempt chance, but Harry was right. There was no proscribed length of time between doses. Snape had invented the potion and the regimen – certainly he could change it. Harry was clearly over the effects of the last dose and was ready and willing to weather the memory surge again. But was Snape ready for Harry to no longer need him at all? Would Harry move on once he was restored to himself? If Snape gave Harry the potion tomorrow, would Harry be gone by tomorrow night? There was no doubt in Snape's mind that he loved the boy and would miss him terribly when he was gone. Loving someone apparently really did mean letting them go.

"Yes, Harry. You can take the potion tomorrow. But if your brain falls out of your ear, you will have only yourself to blame."

Harry rolled onto his side to face Snape. "I know you wouldn't let me do it if you seriously thought it was unsafe." Harry reached out to take Snape's hand, lacing their fingers together. "Thank you for everything."

And didn't _that _sound prefatory to good-bye. "You're entirely welcome, Harry. Now you should get some rest." Snape tried to pull his hand away, but Harry held on tightly, pulling Snape toward him until Snape was laying nearly on top of the boy. Snape's half-hearted attempts to pull away were overcome easily by Harry's grip.

"Harry . . ."

"Be quiet, Sir," Harry said, and he reached up and kissed Snape, once, briefly, on the mouth.

"Harry . . ." Snape said again, ready to firmly chastise the boy for his liberty.

But Harry wasn't having it and interrupted him again. "I know. You won't. You can't. I'm not right in the head yet. But tomorrow night, I will be. Tomorrow night, you'll have no more excuses. So until then, just hold that thought. Good night, Sir."

And Harry let him go, rolled over to face away from him, and went silent.

Snape extinguished the candle and lay back down on the bed. He was supposed to sleep _now_?

##########

Harry was, finally, completely back to himself. He was twenty in both body and mind. He had a full set of all of the memories he should have. He knew everything. He _knew_. He looked over at Snape. "He made you. He was dying."

Snape nodded. "Yes."

Harry closed his eyes. "Thank God. I wanted it to be something like that, something to explain." Harry opened his eyes again and looked at Snape. "I'm sorry you had to do that."

"Thank you. The Headmaster – Albus – he could be very persuasive. If there had been any other way –"

"I know. It's all right. Thank you for giving that to me. I really needed it."

Snape stood awkwardly. "I am glad that everything worked out as it has, that you are back. Although I have to admit that I came to like the younger version of you quite a lot."

Harry stood up, too, much too close to Snape. "Thank you. You had no obligation to me. You could have taken advantage of my vulnerable state on countless occasions, but you were nothing but decent and kind." He stood on his tiptoes and kissed Snape again. "I would like to repay you."

"Potter – Harry, that is not necessary, and if you think that I did this so that I could –"

"I think nothing of the sort," Harry assured him. "But I know how much I want you. I know that you've been the subject of my wank fantasies for a while now. And I think you want me, too. I think it was very hard for you to push me away all those times I wanted more of you than you could give. But now there's no reason to hold back. I'm me, and you're you. We're both adults, we don't owe each other a thing, and I want you. If you want me, too, I don't know why we shouldn't act on our feelings." As he spoke, Harry had forced Snape backward and maneuvered him into the bedroom until Snape was backed up against his bed. With a small push to the chest, Snape sat abruptly.

Harry's mouth found Snape's, and he pushed the older man backward onto the bed, following him down, his knees on the bed straddling Snape's hips. Harry ground his arse down against the erection he could feel in Snape's trousers, pulling a gasp from those thin lips.

"Harry . . ." Snape tried again.

"No talking, Severus," Harry ordered softly and kissed him again. This kiss was longer, sweeter, messier. When it was over, Harry sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. Snape's eyes ran over Harry's sparsely-haired chest and down the trail of hair that led into the waistband of his jeans. Snape stared up into blazing green eyes as Harry began to unbutton Snape's shirt, slowly, methodically, baring Snape's pale chest to Harry's hungry gaze. Harry ran appreciative hands over the ivory skin, stopping the tweak the nipples, using just his fingertips to trace Snape's sides down to his hips, drawing a shudder from the prone figure.

Snape placed his hands on Harry's thighs. "Harry, stop. I don't know if I can do this. I look at you, and I see the little boy that you were not so long ago."

Harry ground down on Snape's erection again to prove a point – Snape's body wanted this whether or not his brain had come to terms with the fact that Harry was all grown up. "Does this feel like a little boy to you?" he asked, moving Snape's hand to cover his own erection. Harry closed his eyes at the contact, and Snape was lost at the look of bliss on his face.

Harry stood now and removed his jeans, and Snape couldn't help but sit up and stare. He'd seen Harry's cock before, of course. He'd helped the boy in the bath countless times over the last few months. He'd even seen Harry hard, on a couple of occasions. But none of those erections had been for him, for Snape. This one was, and Snape couldn't keep his eyes off it. He wanted so badly to touch, to fondle and to taste. He raised a hand up and started to reach for it when he caught himself.

"Go ahead," Harry urged, stepping closer and jutting his hips toward Snape, his erection proudly pointing at the older man.

And Snape couldn't help himself, and he did. He touched the head with his fingertips, then ran them along the entire length. He swept his hand under the sac, cupping the balls and rolling them with his thumb. He palmed the weight of Harry's stiff prick and closed his fingers around it in a gentle caress. Above him, Harry hissed his pleasure.

"I've wanted you to touch me for so long," Harry said breathily. "May I touch you, too?"

Snape was beyond any restraint now, and he nodded. Harry took both Snape's hands in his and pulled the man to his feet. Looking up at Severus, standing as close as he could to the heat emanating from the scrawny body and still let his hands do their work, Harry undid Snape's trousers and pushed them and his smalls down to the floor. Reverently, Harry took Snape's equally hard prick into his hand and squeezed it once lovingly. Taking his own cock into his other hand, Harry bumped their heads together. "Little Harry, meet Little Severus," he said.

Snape raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Little?" he repeated.

Harry lined them up and wrapped a hand around both their hardened lengths and thrust his hips back and forth, creating a delicious friction in the circle of his fingers. "Mmmm," he groaned.

Snape wrapped his longer fingers around Harry's and moved his own hips in rhythm. "How long do you want this to last?" he gasped out.

Harry threw an arm around Severus' neck and pulled their bodies close, stilling all movement. "How many times do you think you can come?"

Snape's blood quickened, and he could feel the pounding in the vein in his cock head under his thumb. "I probably cannot keep up with you, but I'm good for more than one, I think. It has been a while."

"Lubrication?" Harry ground out.

"_Lubricus_," Snape responded, and Harry immediately felt the slipperiness beneath the hands wrapped around their cocks.

"Nice," Harry noted, biting Snape's neck.

"Useful," Snape agreed, arching his neck to allow Harry to trail his lips higher.

"Now?" Harry asked.

"Now," Snape confirmed.

Harry tightened his grip and began to move both their hands back and forth with vigor. Both men leaned into the touch, straining toward each other, and it wasn't long before they erupted, Snape first and Harry only a fraction of a second behind. A sticky, slimy mess, they clung to each other until the last feeble twitches signaled the end of the mutual orgasm.

"Bed," Harry gasped, his knees weak.

"Is our relationship going to consist of one-word sentences from here on out?" Snape wondered aloud as he led Harry to the bed. They lay together, side by side, after Snape cast cleaning charms on both of them. Snape couldn't help but notice that Harry had not softened.

"You are still hard," he said, gripping Harry's member appreciatively.

"Want you," Harry moaned, thrusting up into the contact. "Do you . . ."

"I've been known to bottom on occasion."

"Can I . . ."

"Yes."

"Then you can do me," Harry offered. They both knew Harry was an experienced bottom. The memories of Harry's time as a prostitute had never left him, but they'd receded further into his consciousness with time and the care he'd received from Snape. As he'd regained his memories, those recollections had become sharper, more focused, and Harry had had to almost relive that horribly humiliating time of his life. And Snape knew, because he'd seen all of the mortifying details in Harry's mind.

"Harry, are you sure about this?" Snape asked. He was more than willing to let Harry bugger him senseless, and he would completely understand if Harry didn't want him to return the favor.

"Yes, Severus, I'm sure. I want it all with you. That lubrication spell was nice, but do you have actual lube?"

Snape rolled away long enough to retrieve the lubricant from the stand beside his bed. He presented it to Harry, then got onto his hands and knees in the middle of the bed.

Harry spent considerable time preparing Snape to take him, so much so that Severus was finally forced to growl, "Enough, Harry! Do it now!"

Happy to oblige, Harry slicked his own painfully erect cock and knelt behind Snape, reverently stroking his arse. He positioned himself at Snape's entrance and slowly, inexorably pushed his way into the tight tunnel.

"Oh God, Severus!" Harry moaned. "You're so tight!"

"Move, Harry," Snape commanded.

Harry did, withdrawing slowly, almost completely, then sliding back in with a bit more force. Having just come, Harry was in no rush to find completion again, and he kept to this leisurely pace for a maddeningly long time. At one point, he withdrew completely and re-anointed his turgid prick. Before reseating himself in Severus, Harry lapped at his sensitive, gaping arsehole, probing with his tongue and tracing around the highly responsive flesh. Snape groaned and pushed back. "Harry!" he begged.

Taking pity on him, Harry drove his cock back where Severus was begging for it to be. Harry set a faster, more punishing pace this time, and Snape began to moan and whine continuously. When he reached for his own erection, Harry growled, "No! If you do that, you won't be able to fuck me!"

"Then you'd better hurry up," Snape suggested.

Taking the warning to heart, Harry began to pound energetically into his lover, his pace increasing until he suddenly stilled, buried balls-deep inside of Severus, for untold moments. After the first spurt of semen deep inside of Severus, Harry began to move again, his movements jerky and erratic as he released himself again, whimpering constantly. Finally empty, he collapsed onto Severus' back, panting heavily.

"Harry!" Snape warned, certain he was going to come untouched if he didn't move soon.

Though he wanted nothing more than to stay where he was forever, Harry recognized the need in Snape's voice and extricated himself slowly. He flopped onto his back beside Snape, and said, "Take me."

Moving quickly, Snape positioned himself between Harry's widespread thighs. He took up the lube, speared his fingers into it, and prepared Harry quickly but thoroughly. Touching his own cock to lubricate it proved to be too much. Mortified, Snape felt himself start to ejaculate.

"Harry!" he said, fumbling to get himself inside Harry's arse while there was still time.

Harry lifted his hips to assist, and Snape acquired the target on the first try. Snape shoved himself in, aided by Harry's violently thrusting hips.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Snape chanted. "Too quick. I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be sorry," Harry said, pulling Snape down for a kiss, though Snape was too far gone to do more than mouth at Harry's lips.

Snape collapsed onto Harry as the last of his orgasm was wrenched from his pulsing cock. "You may be the death of me," he panted. When he felt the hardness beneath his belly, he breathed, "Dear Merlin! You're still hard!"

"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly.

"Do you want me to . . ."

"Nah. Just ignore it. It'll go away."

"You're insatiable," Snape accused, trying to decide if he was pleased by this discovery.

"You're just too sexy," Harry countered. He yawned, a jaw-cracking inhalation. "Can we sleep for a while now?"

Severus rolled off of Harry and cast cleaning spells again, slanting another look at Harry's groin. Yup, still hard. Amazing. He pulled the young man close, Harry's back to his chest, and they lay spooned together. And Snape couldn't seem to stop himself as his hand naturally sought out the magnet that Harry's cock had become and curled his fingers around it. Harry snuggled back into the contact with a contented sigh.

"Have a good nap, Harry," Severus whispered, just as he used to do when Harry was four.

Harry turned to look at him, a silly grin adorning his face. "I love you."

Severus reached over and kissed him tenderly. "And I love you. Go to sleep. We have much to discuss when we wake."

Harry settled in and closed his eyes. Just when Severus was beginning to think he'd finally gone to sleep, Harry rolled over toward Severus and opened his eyes. "Maggie!" he said with some urgency.

"Hmm? What?"

"Maggie. I want to go back and see Maggie, get her out of there."

"Harry, she's a Muggle. What are you going to be able to do for her?"

"Don't know. Don't care. She helped me, kept me whole while I was there. I can't just leave her there."

"She may not even be there any longer," Severus pointed out.

"I know. But I have to go back. I have to check."

Severus kissed Harry on the forehead. "All right. We'll go tomorrow. If she is there, we will figure out a way to help her. But now, sleep."

Harry kissed Severus' jaw. "Okay, sir," he said, and he snuggled up against Severus' chest and closed his eyes for real this time.

The end


End file.
